THE  WIRE  DEVILS 
FRANK  L.  PACKARD 


The  Wire  Devils 


By  FRANK  L.  PACKARD 


AUTHOR  OF 

"Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man," 
*The  Adventure  of  Jimmie  Dale,"  etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with   GEORGE   H.   DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1918, 
feY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I  THE  SECRET  CODE 9 

II  THE  TEN-DOLLAR  COUNTERFEIT  NOTE      .  20 

III  THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE 29 

IV  AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION 56 

V  IN  WHICH  A  CASH  Box  DISAPPEARS     .     .  75 

VI   SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS     ....  88 

VII  WANTED — THE  HAWK — DEAD  OR  ALIVE    .  105 

VIII  THREADS  IN  THE  WEB 115 

IX  THE  LOOTING  OF  THE  FAST  MAIL    .     .     .  129 

X  THE  THIRD  PARTY 143 

XI  THE  LEAD  CAPSULE 155 

XII   BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 172 

XIII  THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR 187 

XIV  THE  CLUE 208 

XV  THE  LADYBIRD 220 

XVI  AN  EVEN  BREAK 237 

XVII  A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 262 

XVIII  THE  HAWK  PACKS  His  VALISE  ....  284 

XIX  BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER 295 

XX  "CONFIDENTIAL"  CORRESPONDENCE      .     .314 


THE  WIRE  DEVILS 


The  Wire 
Devils 


THE  SECRET  CODE 


1 


switch  lights  twinkled ;  one  at  the  east, 
and  one  at  the  west  end  of  the  siding. 
For  the  rest  all  was  blackness.  Half  way 
between  the  switch  lights,  snuggled  close 
against  the  single-tracked  main  line,  the  station,  little 
more  than  a  shanty  and  too  insignificant  to  boast  a 
night  operator,  loomed  up  shadowy  and  indistinct. 
Away  to  the  westward,  like  jagged  points  sticking  up 
into  the  night  and  standing  out  in  relief  against  the 
skyline,  the  Rockies  reared  their  peaks.  And  the 
spell  of  the  brooding  mountains  seemed  to  lie  over  all 
the  desolate,  butte-broken  surrounding  country — for 
all  was  utter  silence. 

And  then  there  came  a  sound,  low  at  first,  like  a 
strange  muttering  from  somewhere  to  the  westward. 

9 


10  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

It  died  away,  grew  louder,  was  hushed  again — and 
broke  into  a  sustained  roar.  Came  then  the  quick, 
short  gasps  of  the  exhaust — it  was  a  freight,  and  a 
heavy  one.  And  suddenly,  from  up  the  track,  cir- 
cling an  intervening  butte,  an  electric  headlight  cut 
streaming  through  the  black.  It  touched  the  little 
station  in  a  queerly  inquisitive  way  in  the  sweep  of 
its  arc,  lingered  an  instant  over  the  platform,  then 
swung  to  the  right  of  way,  and  held  there,  the  metals 
glistening  like  polished  silver  ribbons  under  the  flood 
of  light. 

Straining,  panting  at  its  load,  reddening  the  sky 
as  the  fire-box  door  was  flung  open,  the  big  ten- 
wheeler  stormed  by,  coughing  the  sparks  heaven- 
ward from  its  stack.  The  roar  in  the  still  night  grew 
deafening,  as  boxcar,  flat  and  gondola,  lurching, 
swaying,  clanking,  groaning,  an  endless  string,  tug- 
ging at  one  another,  grinding  their  flanges,  screaming 
as  they  took  up  the  axle  play,  staggered  with  a  din 
infernal  past  the  lonely  and  unlighted  station. 

The  roar  sank  into  a  gradually  diminishing  mur- 
mur. The  tail-lights  winked  like  mischievous  little 
red  eyes  in  the  distance — and  vanished. 

All  was  stillness  and  that  brooding  silence  again. 

And  then  a  man's  form,  like  a  black  shadow  in  the 
darkness,  rose  from  the  trackside,  and  crept  to  the 
platform,  and  along  the  platform  to  the  station  door. 

The  man  bent  forward,  and  the  round,  white  ray 
of  a  pocket  flashlight  played  upon  the  lock.  He  ex- 
amined the  lock  for  an  instant  appraisingly,  then 
drew  a  bunch  of  skeleton  keys  from  his  pocket,  and, 


THE  SECRET  CODE  11 

selecting  one  of  the  number  without  hesitation,  un- 
locked the  door,  stepped  inside,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

The  flashlight  swept  in  a  circle  around  the  inter- 
ior of  the  little  station.  There  were  but  two  rooms — 
the  small  waiting  room  which  he  had  entered,  and  in 
which  he  now  stood;  and,  partitioned  off  from  this, 
the  door  open,  a  still  smaller  inner  room,  the  agent's 
office.  He  moved  at  once  into  the  latter,  and  his 
flashlight,  swiftly  now,  searched  around  the  walls 
and  held  upon  the  clock.  It  was  six  minutes  to  ten. 

"Pretty  close  workl"  muttered  the  man.  "Six 
minutes  to  wait." 

The  ray  travelled  now  over  the  operator's  table, 
and  from  the  table  to  the  switchboard.  He  reached 
out,  "cut  in"  the  office  circuit,  listened  for  an  instant 
as  the  sounder  began  to  chatter — then  the  ray  swept 
over  the  table  again.  Under  a  newspaper,  that  the 
day  man  had  apparently  flung  down  at  haphazard  on 
leaving  the  office,  he  found  a  pad  of  telegraph  blanks, 
from  which,  evidently  wary  of  the  consequences  of 
using  a  pad  with  its  resultant  tell-tale  impressions  on 
the  under  sheets,  he  tore  off  a  sheet  and  laid  it  down 
ready  to  hand  before  him. 

This  done,  he  nodded  complacently,  sat  down  in 
the  operator's  chair,  tilted  the  chair  back,  put  his 
feet  up  on  the  table,  and  coolly  picked  up  the  news- 
paper. It  was  the  evening  edition  of  the  Selkirk  City 
Journal,  that  had  presumably  been  tossed  off  at  the 
station  by  a  charitable  train  crew  of  some  late  after- 
noon train  out  from  the  city.  He  held  the  paper  in 


18  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

one  hand,  the  flashlight  in  the  other,  scanned  the 
page,  which  happened  to  be  an  inner  one,  cursorily, 
turned  it  over,  and  suddenly  leaned  forward  a  little 
in  his  seat.  He  was  staring  at  the  headline  at  the 
top  right-hand  corner  of  the  front  page. 

NOTORIOUS  CRIMINAL  RELEASED  FROM 
SING  SING 

POLICE   ARE   WARNED   THAT   MAN   MAY   BE   IN 
THIS  VICINITY 


The  telegraph  sounder  chattered  volubly  for  an 
instant,  as  though  to  challenge  and  silence  the  rau* 
cous  ticking  of  the  clock,  and  ended  in  a  splutter  of 
wrath,  as  it  were,  at  the  futility  of  its  attempt.  The 
clock  ticked  on.  There  was  no  other  sound.  And 
then  the  man  spoke  aloud. 

"That's  me,"  he  said.  "The  Hawk."  The  paper 
rattled  in  his  hand.  There  was  a  twisted  smile  on 
his  lips  in  the  darkness.  "I  guess  I'm  pretty  well 
known." 

The  Hawk's  eyes  fixed  on  the  text,  and  he  began 
to  read: 

"It  is  reported  that  Harry  Maul,  better 
known  to  the  police  as  the  Hawk,  safe-breaker, 
forger  and  thief,  one  of  the  cleverest  'gentle- 
man' crooks  in  the  country,  who  is  at  large  again 


THE  SECRET  CODE  13 

after  a  five-years'  penitentiary  term,  is  some- 
where in  the  West. 

"The  crime  wave  that  has  recently  been 
sweeping  over  Selkirk  City  and  its  vicinity,  and 
particularly  the  daring  and,  in  too  many  cases, 
successful  outrages  with  which  the  railroad  of- 
ficials and  detectives  have  been  called  upon  to 
cope  of  late,  may,  as  a  very  plausible  theory, 
have  lured  the  Hawk  here  as  to  a  promising 
field  in  which  to  resume  his  criminal  operations. 
Certain  it  is  that,  while  we  have  been  the  victims 
of  a  band  of  mysterious  desperadoes  for  some 
time  past,  the  last  week  or  so  has  seen  a  very 
marked  increase  in  the  number  of  crimes  that 
have  been  committed — a  significant  coincidence 
with  the  Hawk's  release  from  Sing  Sing. 

"A  twenty-thousand-dollar  diamond  necklace 
was  stolen  from  a  private  car  two  nights  ago; 
there  was  an  express  car  robbery  on  Monday  of 
this  week;  and  a  sleeping  car  was  thoroughly 
and  systematically  looted  the  night  before. 
True,  it  is  mere  conjecture  to  connect  the  Hawk 
with  these  in  any  way,  since  the  gang  that  has 
been  operating  in  this  neighbourhood  has 
proved  itself  quite  capable  of  all  and  more  than 
this  without  any  outside  and  highly  specialised 
assistance,  and  it  would  appear  is  in  no  whit  in- 
ferior in  resource  and  devilish  ingenuity  to  the 
best,  or  worst,  that  Sing  Sing  has  to  offer  in  the 
shape  of  this  so-called  Hawk;  but,  out  of  con- 
jecture, one  question  naturally  suggests  itself. 


14  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Granting  the  presence  of  the  Hawk,  is  he  here 
as  a  rival  of  the  criminals  of  whose  existence 
we  are  already  only  too  well  aware,  or  is  he  one 
of  them  through  old-time  associations  before 
Sing  Sing  put  a  temporary  check  upon  his  ac- 
tivities?" 

There  was  more — a  virulent  outpouring  of  wrath 
at  the  intolerable  extent  to  which  the  community,  its 
life  and  property,  was  being  endangered,  and  a  prom- 
ise of  summary  vengeance  upon  the  criminals  if 
caught. 

"Quite  so!"  murmured  the  Hawk,  lowering  his 
feet  slowly  to  the  floor.  "I  guess  it  wouldn't  be 
healthy  to  get  caught  around  these  parts.  I  have  a 
feeling  that  it  would  be  the  nearest  telegraph  pole 
instead  of  a  trial!" 

He  tossed  the  newspaper  back  on  the  table.  The 
sounder,  spasmodic  in  its  chatter,  for  the  moment 
was  still.  All  was  silence,  profound,  absolute.  Then 
the  clock  struck,  loud,  resonant,  smashing  through 
the  silence,  startling.  And  at  the  same  instant  the 
sounder  broke  into  a  quick  tattoo.  The  Hawk 
snatched  a  pencil  from  his  porket,  and  jerked  his 
body  forward — then  relaxed  again. 

"Stray  stuff,"  he  muttered.  "Got  in  ahead  of 
him.  We'll  get  it  in  a  minute  now." 

Pencil  poised  in  his  hand,  the  flashlight  playing  on 
the  blank  sheet  of  paper  before  him,  the  Hawk 
waited.  The  sounder  ceased — and  almost  instantly 
broke  again,  rattling  sharply  through  the  room.  The 


THE  SECRET  CODE  15 

Hawk  nodded,  as  his  pencil  began  to  travel  across 
the  paper. 

"  'mtlky' — stroke  at  five.  Two-three-one  to- 
night," he  said  aloud. 

Without  pause,  without  hesitation,  without  the 
slightest  indication  of  spacing  to  break  its  continu- 
ity, the  sounder  rattled  on — and  finally,  as  abruptly 
as  it  had  begun,  it  stopped. 

On  the  sheet  of  paper  the  Hawk  had  written  this : 

mtlkyeqodktrpcvkqlmtpkpwrtrgtftuqcyqtnttsghv 
ukopgfkxtikukqprelcnrcatocuvgdatfgumttlvgpvjf 
qwucpmtfkpuckjihgvqptkijvrsawvpxodttdgtqprg 
qplqosd 

He  reached  out  for  the  pad,  tore  off  another  sheet, 
and  in  two  parallel  columns  set  down  the  letters  of 
the  alphabet,  one  column  transposed.  There  was  a 
faint  smile  on  his  lips,  as  he  turned  again  to  the  ci- 
pher and  began  to  write  in  another  line  of  letters 
under  the  original  message. 

"I  wonder  what  Poe  and  his  predominant  V  would 
do  with  this  I"  he  chuckled.  "  'Combi' — stroke  two. 
Key  letter — stroke  three."  He  frowned  the  next  in- 
stant. "What's  this!  Ah — stroke  three,  instead 
of  one."  He  completed  the  transposition,  stared  at 
the  several  lines  which  were  now  scattered  with  ver- 
tically crossed-out  letters,  whistled  low  under  his 
breath,  and  a  grim  look  settled  on  his  face. 

The  message  now  read : 


16  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 


Mechanically,  he  separated  words  and  sentences, 
and,  eliminating  the  superfluous  letters,  wrote  out  the 
translation  at  the  bottom  of  the  sheet: 

"Combination  in  upper  drawer  left  side  divi- 
sional paymaster  ('s)  desk.  Ten  thousand  in 
safe  to-night.  Put  Number  One  on  job." 

The  Hawk  stood  up,  "plugged  out"  the  station  cir- 
cuit, and,  gathering  up  the  two  sheets  of  paper  he 
had  used,  put  them  in  his  pocket;  then,  leaving  the 
door  of  the  operator's  room  open  behind  him,  as  he 
had  found  it,  he  stepped  out  from  the  station  to  the 
platform,  and,  with  his  skeleton  key,  relocked  the 
station  door.  He  stood  for  a  moment  staring  up 
and  down  the  track.  The  switchlights  blinked  back 
at  him  confidentially.  He  listened.  The  eastbound 
freight,  from  which  he  had  jumped  some  twenty 
minutes  before,  would  cross  Extra  No.  83,  the  west- 
bound way  freight,  at  Elkton,  seven  miles  away,  but 
there  was  no  sound  of  the  latter  as  yet. 

He  turned  then,  and,  jumping  from  the  platform 
to  the  track,  swung  into  a  dog-trot  along  the  road- 
bed. The  Hawk  smiled  contentedly  to  himself.  It 
was  all  timed  to  a  nicety !  A  mile  or  so  to  the  west, 
the  right  of  way  rose  in  a  stiff  grade  that  the  way 
freight  would  be  able  to  negotiate  at  no  better  speed 


THE  SECRET  CODE  17 

than  the  pace  at  which  a  man  could  crawl.  He  could 
make  the  distance  readily,  board  her  there,  and  the 
way  freight  would  get  him  to  Selkirk — and  the  di- 
visional paymaster's  office ! — by  about  midnight. 

He  ran  on,  the  swing  and  ease  of  a  trained  athlete 
in  his  stride.  And,  as  he  ran,  he  took  the  sheets  of 
paper  from  his  pocket,  and,  tearing  them  into  small 
fragments,  scattered  the  pieces  at  intervals  here  and 
there. 

He  reached  the  foot  of  the  grade,  and  paused  to 
look  back  along  the  track,  as  suddenly  from  behind 
him  came  the  hoarse  scream  of  an  engine  whistle. 
That  was  the  way  freight  now,  whistling  perfunc- 
torily for  the  deserted  station!  He  had  made  the 
grade  in  plenty  of  time,  though  the  nearer  to  the  top 
he  could  get  the  better,  for  the  freight,  requiring  all 
the  initial  impetus  it  could  attain,  would  hit  the  foot 
of  the  grade  wide  open. 

The  Hawk  broke  into  a  run  again,  glancing  con- 
stantly back  over  his  shoulder  as  he  sped  on  up  the 
grade.  And  then,  when  he  was  well  on  toward  the 
summit,  opening  the  night  like  a  blazing  disk  as  it 
rounded  a  curve,  he  caught  the  gleam  of  the  head- 
light. It  grew  larger  and  larger,  until,  beginning 
to  fling  a  luminous  pathway  up  the  track  that,  gradu- 
ally lengthening,  crept  nearer  and  nearer  to  him,  he 
swerved  suddenly,  plunged  down  the  embankment, 
and,  well  away  from  the  trackside,  dropped  flat  upon 
the  ground. 

The  engine,  slowed,  was  grunting  heavily  on  the 
incline  as  it  strained  by  the  spot  where  he  lay;  there 


18  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

was  the  glimmer  of  the  front-end  brakeman's  lamp 
from  the  top  of  one  of  the  forward  cars — and,  with 
a  quick,  appraising  glance  to  measure  the  length  of 
the  train,  the  Hawk,  on  hands  and  knees,  crawled 
forward,  and  up  the  embankment,  and,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  rolling  cars  themselves,  stood  up.  There 
would  be  sharp  eyes  watching  from  the  cupola  of  the 
caboose.  He  laughed  a  little.  And  not  only  the 
train  crew  there,  perhaps  1  The  railroad  detectives, 
at  their  wits'  ends,  had  acquired  the  habit  of  late  of 
turning  up  in  the  most  unexpected  places! 

A  boxcar  rolled  by  him,  another,  and  still  another 
— but  the  Hawk's  eyes  were  fixed  a  little  further 
along  toward  the  rear  on  an  open  space,  where,  in  the 
darkness,  a  flat  car  gave  the  appearance  of  a  break 
in  the  train.  The  flat  car  came  abreast  of  him.  He 
caught  the  iron  foot-rung,  jumped,  and,  with  a  pow- 
erful, muscular  swing,  flung  himself  aboard. 

The  car  was  loaded  with  some  kind  of  carriage,  or 
wagon,  tarpaulin-covered.  The  Hawk  crawled  in 
under  the  tarpaulin,  and  lay  down  upon  his  back,  pil- 
lowing his  head  on  a  piece  of  timber  that  blocked  the 
carriage  wheels. 

The  train  topped  the  grade,  gained  speed,  and 
roared  on  through  the  night.  Occasionally,  during 
what  was  close  to  a  two-hours'  run,  it  stopped  at  in- 
termediate stations,  and  the  Hawk  peered  furtively 
out  from  under  the  tarpaulin  to  locate  the  surround- 
ings, with  which  he  appeared  to  be  intimately  famil- 
iar; and  once,  nearing  the  end  of  the  run,  as  the 
faint-suffused  glow  from  the  city's  lights  in  the  dis- 


THE  SECRET  CODE  19 

tance  showed  under  the  shadows  of  the  towering 
peaks,  he  spoke  aloud. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,"  remarked  the  Hawk 
pleasantly.  "Nice  picking  for  a  few  hours'  work — • 
ten  thousand  dollars  1" 


THE  TEN-DOLLAR  COUNTERFEIT  NOTE 


f  ""^HE  Hawk  crawled  out  from  under  the  tar- 
paulin and  dropped  to  the  ground,  as  the 
freight,  slowing  down,  began  to  patter  in 
-^-  over  the  spur  switches  of  the  Selkirk  yard. 
He  darted,  bent  low,  across  several  spurs  to  escape 
the  possibility  of  observation  from  the  freight's  ca- 
boose ;  then  began  to  make  his  way  toward  the  round- 
house ahead  of  him.  He  would  have  to  pass  around 
behind  the  roundhouse  in  order  to  get  up  opposite 
the  station  and  the  divisional  offices.  The  Hawk 
glanced  sharply  about  him  as  he  moved  along.  He 
dodged  here  and  there  like  some  queer,  irresponsible 
phantom  flitting  amongst  the  low,  myriad  red,  green 
and  purple  lights  that  dotted  the  yard;  and  he  care- 
fully avoided  those  other  lights,  the  white  lights  of 
the  yardsmen,  now  bobbing  as  the  men  ran  up  and 
down,  now  swinging  from  the  footboard  of  a  pass- 
ing switcher,  that  seemed  to  be  unusually  ubiquitous 
— for  the  Hawk  was  secretive,  and  for  certain  good 
and  valid  reasons  was  possessed  of  an  earnest  de- 
sire that  no  stranger  should  be  reported  prowling 
around  the  railroad  yard  that  night. 

He   reached   the   roundhouse,   stepped   close   up 

20 


THE  TEN-DOLLAR  COUNTERFEIT  NOTE     21 

against  the  wall  to  take  advantage  of  the  security 
afforded  by  the  shadows,  and  began  to  circle  the 
building.  The  Hawk  was  treading  silently  now. 
Halfway  around  the  building  he  halted  abruptly, 
his  head  cocked  suddenly  in  a  listening  attitude 
toward  a  small,  open  and  lighted  window  on  a 
level  with  his  shoulders,  and  in  order  to  pass  which 
he  had  just  been  on  the  point  of  stooping  down. 

"I  think,"  said  the  Hawk  softly  to  himself,  "I 
think  this  sounds  as  though  it  interested  me." 

He  crept  cautiously  forward,  and  from  the  edge 
of  the  window  glanced  inside.  It  was  the  turner's 
"cubbyhole,"  or  office.  The  door  was  closed,  and 
two  men  were  standing  there,  talking  earnestly.  The 
Hawk's  face,  dimly  outlined  now  in  the  window  light, 
smooth-shaven,  square-jawed,  the  eyes  and  forehead 
hidden  by  the  brim  of  the  slouch  hat  that  was  pulled 
forward  almost  to  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  set  with 
a  curious  and  significant  smile.  It  was  not  a  bad 
place  for  a  private  conference !  He  had  thought  he 
had  recognised  the  voice — and  he  had  not  been  mis- 
taken. The  big,  heavy-built,  thin-lipped,  pugnacious- 
faced  man  was  MacVightie,  the  head  of  the  railroad's 
detective  force;  the  other,  a  smaller  man,  with  alert 
grey  eyes,  his  forehead  furrowed  anxiously,  whose 
clenched  hand  rested  on  the  table,  was  Lanson,  the 
division  superintendent. 

"I  don't  know,  damn  it,  MacVightie !"  Lanson  was 
saying  savagely.  "I  don't  know  what  to  think,  or 
believe — I  only  know  that  a  Pullman  hold-up  one 
night,  a  twenty-thousand-dollar  necklace  stolen  the 


22  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

next,  an  express  car  looted,  and  several  other  little 
pleasant  episodes  all  jammed  one  on  top  of  the  other, 
means  hell  to  pay  out  here  and  nothing  to  pay  it  with, 
unless  we  can  do  something  almighty  quick!" 

"Any  more  of  those  messages?"  inquired  Mac- 
Vightie — there  was  an  ominous  abstraction  in  his 
tones. 

"Yes— to-night." 

"Make  anything  of  it?" 

"No,"  said  Lanson;  "and  I  think  it's  about  time 
to  put  a  kink  in  that  little  business,  whether  they 
mean  anything  or  not.  This  cat-and-mouse  game 
we've  been  playing  isn't " 

"We'll  get  back  to  that  in  a  minute,"  interrupted 
MacVightie  quietly.  "Here's  a  little  something  else 
that  may  possibly  fit  into  the  combination."  He 
reached  Into  his  pocket,  took  out  his  pocketbook, 
opened  it,  and  handed  the  division  superintendent  a 
crisp  new  ten-dollar  note. 

The  Hawk's  lips  thinned  instantly,  and  he  swore 
sharply  under  his  breath. 

"What's  this?"  asked  Lanson,  in  surprise. 

"Phony!"  said  MacVightie  laconically. 

"Counterfeit!"  Lanson  turned  the  note  over  in 
his  hands,  staring  at  first  one  side  and  then  the 
other.  "Are  you  sure?  I'd  take  it  any  time." 

"You'd  have  lots  of  company  with  you" — there 
was  a  sudden  rasp  in  the  detective's  voice.  "Pretty 
good  one,  isn't  it?  The  East  is  being  flooded  with 
them.  Two  of  them  showed  up  in  the  banks  here 
in  the  city  yesterday,  and  one  to-day." 


THE  TEN-DOLLAR  COUNTERFEIT  NOTE     23 

Lanson  frowned  perplexedly. 

"I  don't  get  you,  MacVightie,"  he  said. 

"Suppose  they  were  being  struck  off  around  here," 
suggested  MacVightie  curtly.  "I  don't  say  they  are, 
but  suppose  it  were  so.  They'd  likely  be  shoved  out 
as  far  away  from  this  locality  as  possible,  wouldn't 
they — back  East,  say.  They're  so  good  that  a  jag 
of  them  got  by  before  they  began  to  be  detected — 
and  now  suppose  we  assume  that  they're  beginning 
to  sift  back  around  the  country." 

"Well?" 

"Well" — MacVightie  caught  the  superintendent 
up  quickly — "I  didn't  say  I  could  prove  it;  but, 
coupled  with  the  fact  that  I  happen  to  know  that  the 
police  have  traced  the  work  back  to  somewhere  west 
of  Chicago,  I've  got  a  hunch  that  the  gang  that  is 
operating  around  here  and  the  crowd  that  is  turning 
out  the  phony  money  is  the  same  outfit.  The  Lord 
knows" — he  smiled  bitterly — "they're  clever  enough ! 
And  to  go  back  to  those  messages  now.  If  there  was 
anything  in  them  at  all,  anything  more  than  some 
irresponsible  idiot  tampering  with  a  key  somewhere, 
we  were  face  to  face,  not  with  a  mere  gang  of  train 
robbers,  but  with  an  organised  criminal  league  as 
dangerous  and  powerful  as  has  ever  existed  in  this 
country — and  that's  what  made  me  hesitate.  We 
couldn't  afford  to  take  any  chances,  to  start  out  after 
a  mare's  nest,  and  we  had  to  make  as  nearly  sure  of 
our  ground  as  possible  before  we  played  a  card.  We 
went  on  the  principle  that  if  it  was  only  somebody 
playing  the  goat,  he'd  get  tired  of  it  before  long  if 


24  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

no  one  paid  any  attention  to  him;  if  it  meant  any- 
thing more  than  that,  he'd  keep  on."  MacVightie's 
pugnacious  face  screwed  up  into  a  savage  grimace. 
"Well,  maybe  this  counterfeiting  idea  has  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  deciding  me,  but,  anyway,  I'm  satis- 
fied now.  He  has  kept  on.  And  I'm  satisfied  now 
that  those  messages  are  a  cipher  code  that  the  gang 
is  using,  and  that  our  cat-and-mouse  play,  as  you  call 
it,  instead  of  being  abortive,  is  exactly  what's  going 
to  land  our  men  for  us.  That's  one  thing  I  came  to 
tell  you  to-night — that  I'm  ready  now  to  take  the 
gloves  off  on  this  wire  game." 

Lanson  smashed  his  fist  down  on  the  table  top. 
'"Good!"  he  exclaimed  grimly.    "I'd  like  to  make 
things  hot  for  somebody,  and  it'll  at  least  be  easy 
enough  to  catch  whoever  is  using  the  wire." 

MacVightie  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  no ;  it  won't !"  he  said  evenly.  "I  didn't  mean 
to  give  you  that  impression,  and  don't  you  make 
the  mistake  of  under-estimating  the  brains  we're  up 
against,  Lanson.  I'm  no  expert  on  telegraphy,  that's 
your  end  of  it,  but  I  know  they  wouldn't  sit  in  on 
any  game  where  they  didn't  hold  trumps  up  their 
sleeves.  Get  me?  Now  let's  see  what  it  looks  like. 
As  I  understand  it,  these  messages,  no  matter  from 
what  point  on  the  division  they  are  sent,  would  be 
heard  on  every  sounder  on  the  line — that's  right, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes — sure !    Of  course !"  agreed  Lanson. 

"And  it  might  be  an  operator  working  with  them 


THE  TEN-DOLLAR  COUNTERFEIT  NOTE     25 

as  an  inside  man;  or,  with  the  necessary  outfit,  the 
wire  could  be  tapped  at  any  point,  couldn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lanson;  "but  the  minute  he  starts  in, 
we  could  begin  to  'ground'  him  out." 

"Go  on!"  invited  MacVightie.     "I'm  listening." 

"We  could  tell  whether  he  was  working  east  or 
west  of  any  given  point,"  explained  the  superinten- 
dent; "and,  with  the  operators  instructed  before- 
hand, practically  narrow  him  down  to,  say,  between 
two  stations." 

The  Hawk,  as  he,  too,  listened,  permitted  an 
amused  smile  to  flicker  across  his  lips. 

"Urn!"  said  MacVightie.  "And  would  he  be 
aware  that  this  'grounding'  process  was  going  on?" 

"Yes — naturally,"  admitted  Lanson.  "We  can't 
prevent  that." 

MacVightie  shook  his  head  again. 

"That  doesn't  sound  good  to  me,"  he  said  slowly. 
"All  he'd  have  to  do  would  be  to  beat  it  then — and 
the  next  time  start  in  fifty  miles  away,  and  you'd  have 
to  begin  all  over  again.  And,  besides,  who's  receiv- 
ing the  messages?  You  can't  put  any  tabs  on  that. 
Every  sounder  from  Selkirk  City  to  Rainy  River 
registers  them,  and  all  a  man's  got  to  do  is  listen. 
You  see,  Lanson,  it's  not  so  easy — eh?" 

Lanson  frowned. 

"Well,  what  do  you  suggest?"  he  asked  uncom- 
fortably. "We  can  stop  it." 

"But  we  don't  want  to  stop  it!"  returned  Mac- 
Vightie. "We  could  have  done  that  from  the  first. 
What  we  want  is  our  man  now.  And  it  strikes  me 


26  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

that  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  find  out  whether  one 
of  our  own  operators  is  in  on  this  or  not.  Unless 
the  line  is  tapped  somewhere,  it's  a  cinch  that  a  sta- 
tion key  is  being  used,  isn't  it?  Send  some  linemen 
that  you  can  trust  over  the  division.  If  they  find  any- 
thing at  all,  they'll  find  the  spot  where  the  messages 
are  coming  from,  won't  they?  If  they  find  nothing, 
we'll  know  we've  got  to  look  nearer  home — amongst 


our  own  men." 


Lanson,  in  his  turn,  shook  his  head. 

"Not  necessarily,"  he  objected.  "We've  a  num- 
ber of  small  stations  where  there's  no  night  operator. 
They  might  have  got  into  one  of  those.  The  mes- 
sages all  come  through  at  night." 

"Well,  I'll  call  the  turn  there!"  responded  Mac- 
Vightie,  with  a  short  laugh.  "See  that  I  get  a  list 
of  those  stations  in  the  morning,  and  I'll  detail  men 
to  take  care  of  that  end  of  it." 

The  Hawk  drew  back  a  little,  shifting  his  strained 
position — the  amused  smile  was  no  longer  on  his  lips. 

"And  as  for  that  'ground'  business,"  went  on  Mac- 
Vightie,  "go  slow  with  it  till  you  get  your  linemen's 
report.  Don't  do  any  more  than  try  it  out  with  some 
operator  you  can  absolutely  depend  upon,  say,  about 
halfway  down  the  line.  You  say  you  would  be  able 
to  tell  whether  the  messages  were  coming  from  east 
or  west  of  that  point;  that'll  cut  the  division  in  half 
for  us  as  far  as  our  search  is  concerned,  and  that's 
worth  taking  a  chance  on.  But  don't  overdo  it, 
Lanson.  We  don't  want  to  throw  any  scare  into 
him — yet." 


THE  TEN-DOLLAR  COUNTERFEIT  NOTE     27 

"All  right,"  agreed  Lanson.  "I'll  start  things 
moving  to-night.  Martin,  at  Bald  Creek,  will  be  the 
best  man,  I  guess.  I'll  send  a  letter  down  to  him  on 
No.  8." 

"And  warn  him  to  make  no  reports  by  wire"  cau- 
tioned MacVightie. 

"All  right — yes,  naturally,"  agreed  the  superin- 
tendent again.  Then,  after  a  short  pause,  anxious- 
ly :  "Anything  turned  up  at  all,  MacVightie  ?  Any 
clue  to  that  necklace?  The  governor's  wife  is  mak- 
ing a  holler  that's  reached  from  here  to  the  road's 
directors  down  in  Wall  Street." 

"Damn  it,"  growled  MacVightie.  "I'm  well 
enough  aware  of  it — but  the  necklace  isn't  any  more 
important  than  any  one  of  the  other  affairs,  is  it? 
No;  there's  nothing — not  a  blamed  thing!" 

"Well,  what  about  this  Sing  Sing  convict,  the 
Hawk,  that  the  papers  are  featuring  to-night?" 
Lanson  asked.  "Anything  in  that?" 

"I  don't  know — maybe,"  McVightie  answered  vi- 
ciously. "He's  only  one  more,  anyway.  This  gang 
was  operating  before  he  was  released — and  it's  likely 
enough,  if  they're  old  pals  of  his,  that  he's  come  out 
here  to  give  them  a  hand.  The  New  York  police 
say  he  went  to  Chicago  immediately  after  his  release, 
two  weeks  ago.  The  Chicago  police  reported  him 
there,  and  then  he  disappeared;  then  Denver  spotted 
him  a  few  days  later — and  that's  the  last  that's  been 
seen  of  him.  You  can  make  what  you  like  of  that. 
He's  certainly  been  hitting  a  pretty  straight  trail 
west.  He  wasn't  stopped,  of  course,  because  he  isn't 


28  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

'wanted'  at  present;  he's  only  a  man  with  a  bad  rec- 
ord, and  labelled  dangerous.  We  were  warned  to 
look  out  for  him,  that's  all." 

"Got  his  description?"  inquired  Lanson. 

"Yes" — MacVightie's  laugh  was  a  short  bark. 
"Medium  height,  broad-shouldered,  muscular,  black 
hair,  black  eyes,  straight  nose,  good-looking,  and 
gentlemanly  in  appearance  and  manner,  dresses  well, 
age  twenty-four  to  twenty-six,  no  distinctive  marks 
or  disfigurement." 

"There's  probably  not  more  than  twenty-five  thou- 
sand men  in  Selkirk  City  who  would  answer  to  every 
detail  of  that!"  Lanson  commented  sarcastically. 

"Exactly!"  admitted  MacVightie.  "And 
that's " 

The  Hawk  was  creeping  forward  again  in  the 
shadows  of  the  roundhouse. 

"Yes,  I  guess  it  interested  me,"  muttered  the 
Hawk;  "I  guess  it  did.  I  guess  I'm  playing  in  luck 
to-night." 


— Ill— 

THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE 

FROM  the  roundhouse   it  was  only  a  few 
yards  to  the  rear  of  the  long,  low-lying 
freight  sheds  and,  unobserved,  the  Hawk 
gained  this  new  shelter.    He  stole  quickly 
along  to  the  further  end  of  the  sheds;  and  there, 
crouched  down  again  in  the  shadows,  halted  to  make 
a  critical  survey  of  his  surroundings. 

Just  in  front  of  him,  divided  only  by  a  sort  of 
driveway  for  the  convenience  of  the  teamsters,  was 
the  end  wall  of  the  station,  and,  in  the  end  wall — 
the  window  of  the  divisional  paymaster's  office.  The 
Hawk  glanced  to  his  left.  The  street  upon  which 
the  station  fronted,  an  ill-savoured  section  of  the  city, 
was  dark,  dimly  lighted,  and  deserted ;  the  only  sign 
of  life  being  the  lighted  windows  of  a  saloon  o*,  ^he 
corner  of  a  narrow  lane  that  bisected  the  block  of 
somewhat  disreputable,  tumble-down  wooden  struc- 
tures that  faced  the  station.  To  his  right,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  freight  shed,  the  railroad  yard  had 
narrowed  down  to  the  station  tracks  and  a  single 
spur  alongside  the  shed.  There  was  no  one  in  sight 
in  either  direction. 

The  Hawk's  eyes  strayed  back  to  the  paymaster's 

29 


30  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

window.  The  station,  like  its  surrounding  neigh- 
bours, was  an  old  wooden  building;  and,  being  low 
and  only  two-storied,  the  second-story  window  of- 
fered inviting  possibilities.  From  the  sill  of  the  lower 
window,  a  man  who  was  at  all  agile  had  the  upper 
window  at  his  mercy.  Against  this  mode  of  attack, 
however,  was  the  risk  of  being  seen  by  any  one  who 
might  pass  along  the  street,  or  by  any  one  who  might 
chance  upon  the  end  of  the  station  platform. 

"What's  the  use!"  decided  the  Hawk,  with  an 
abrupt  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "Play  safe.  There's 
a  better  way." 

The  Hawk  crept  across  the  driveway,  reached  the 
street  side  of  the  station,  peered  cautiously  around 
the  corner  of  the  building,  and,  satisfied  that  he  was 
unobserved,  edged  down  along  the  building  for  a 
short  distance,  paused  in  a  doorway,  glanced  quickly 
about  him  again — and  then  the  door  opened  and 
closed,  and  he  was  standing  in  a  murky  passageway, 
that  was  lighted  only  by  a  single  incandescent  far 
back  by  a  stair  well. 

He  stood  motionless,  listening.  From  above, 
through  the  stillness,  came  the  faint  drumming  of  a 
telegraph  key.  There  should  be  no  one  upstairs  now 
but  the  dispatcher,  whose  room  was  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  building  from  the  paymaster's  office— 
and,  possibly,  with  the  dispatcher,  a  call  boy  or  two. 
Arid  the  hallway  above,  he  could  see,  was  dark. 

Moving  stealthily  forward,  as  noiseless  as  a  cat 
in  his  tread,  the  Hawk  took  a  mask  from  his  pocket, 
slipped  it  over  his  face,  and  began  to  mount  the 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  91 

stairs.  He  gained  the  landing — and  halted  again. 
It  was  pitch  black  here,  since  even  the  door  of  the 
dispatcher's  room,  where  there  would  be  a  light,  was 
closed. 

And  then  once  more  the  Hawk  moved  forward — 
and  an  instant  later,  the  paymaster's  door  at  the  ex- 
treme end  of  the  corridor,  under  the  deft  persuasion 
of  his  skeleton  keys,  had  closed  behind  him. 

It  was  not  quite  so  dark  here.  The  lights  from 
the  platform  and  the  yard  filtered  in  through  the  win- 
dow in  a  filmy  sort  of  way;  but  it  was  too  dark  to  dis- 
tinguish objects  in  anything  more  than  grotesque, 
shapeless  outlines. 

The  Hawk  produced  his  flashlight,  and  turned  it 
upon  the  lock  he  had  just  picked.  It  was  a  spring 
lock,  opened  readily  from  the  inside  by  the  mere 
turning  of  the  doorhandle.  He  tried  it  carefully, 
assuring  himself  that  it  could  not  be  opened  from  the 
corridor  without  a  key — and  then  his  light  swept 
around  the  room.  It  played  in  its  circuit  upon  the 
paymaster's  flat-topped  desk  against  the  wall,  and 
upon  a  large  safe  in  the  corner,  near  the  window, 
whose  polished  nickel  dial  sent  back  an  answering 
flash  under  the  darting  ray;  but  the  Hawk,  for  the 
moment,  appeared  to  be  interested  in  neither  desk 
nor  safe.  The  flashlight  was  holding  in  a  kind  of 
dogged  inquisitiveness  upon  another  door  close  to 
the  window,  and  directly  opposite  the  safe. 

He  stepped  without  a  sound  across  the  room,  and, 
reaching  this  door,  snapped  off  his  flashlight.  He 
tried  the  door  cautiously,  found  it  unlocked,  and  very 


32  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

softly  opened  it  the  space  of  an  inch.  He  listened 
attentively.  There  was  no  sound.  He  pushed  the 
door  open,  switched  on  his  flashlight  again,  and 
stepped  through  the  doorway.  It  appeared  to  be  a 
clerks'  office — for  the  paymaster's  staff,  presumably. 
The  Hawk  seemed  to  possess  a  peculiar  penchant  for 
doors.  The  only  thing  in  the  room  that  apparently 
held  any  interest  for  him  now  was  the  door  that 
opened,  like  the  paymaster's,  upon  the  corridor. 
He  slipped  quickly  across  the  room,  and,  as  before, 
examined  the  lock.  Like  the  other,  it  was  a  spring 
lock;  and,  like  the  other,  he  tested  it  to  make  sure 
it  was  locked  on  the  outside. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,"  confided  the  Hawk  to 
the  lock,  "isn't  to  be  picked  up  every  night;  and  we 
can't  afford  to  take  any  chances,  you  know." 

He  began  to  retrace  his  steps  toward  the  paymas- 
ter's office,  but  now,  obviously,  with  more  attention  to 
the  details  of  his  surroundings,  for  his  flashlight  kept 
dancing  quick,  jerky  flashes  in  all  directions  about 
him. 

"Ah!"  The  exclamation,  low-breathed,  came  sud- 
denly. "I  thought  there  ought  to  be  something  like 
this  around  here !" 

From  beside  a  desk,  he  stooped  and  picked  up  an 
empty  pay  satchel;  then,  returning  at  once  to  the 
other  office,  but  leaving  the  connecting  door  just 
ajar,  he  dropped  the  pay  bag  in  front  of  the  safe, 
and  went  silently  over  to  the  desk — a  mouse  run- 
ning across  the  floor  would  have  made  more  com- 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  38 

motion  than  the  Hawk  had  made  since  his  entry  into 
the  station. 

".  .  .  Upper  drawer,  left  side,"  he  muttered. 
"Locked,  of  course — ah  1"  A  tiny  key,  selected  from 
its  fellow  outlaws,  was  inserted  in  the  lock — and  the 
Hawk  pulled  out  the  drawer,  and  began  to  rummage 
through  its  contents. 

From  the  back  of  the  drawer,  after  perhaps  a 
minute's  search,  he  picked  up  a  card,  and  with  a 
nod  of  satisfaction  began  to  study  it. 

4  4Left — two  right;  eighty-seven,  one  quarter — 
left;  three  .  .  .  '  The  Hawk's  eyes  travelled 
swiftly  over  the  combination.  He  read  it  over  again. 
"Thank  you!"  murmured  the  Hawk  whimsically — 
and  dropped  the  card  back  in  the  drawer,  and  locked 
the  drawer. 

A  moment  more,  and  the  white  beam  of  the  flash- 
light was  playing  on  the  face  of  the  safe,  and  the  si- 
lence of  the  room  was  broken  by  the  faint,  musical, 
metallic  whirring  of  the  dial.  Bent  forward,  a 
crouching  form  in  the  darkness,  the  Hawk  worked 
swiftly,  a  sure,  deft  accuracy  in  every  movement  of 
his  fingers.  With  a  low  thud,  as  he  turned  the 
handle,  the  heavy  bolt  shot  back  in  its  grooves,  and 
the  ponderous  door  swung  open.  And  now  the  flash- 
light's ray  flooded  the  interior  of  the  safe,  and  the 
Hawk  laughed  low — before  him,  lying  on  the  bottom 
of  the  safe,  neatly  banded  as  they  had  come  from 
the  bank,  were  a  dozen  or  fifteen  little  packages  of 
banknotes. 

The  Hawk  dropped  on  his  knees,  and  reached  for 


r 
34  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  pay  bag.  Ten  thousand  dollars  was  not  so  bulky, 
after  all — if  the  denominations  of  the  notes  were 
large  enough.  He  riffled  one  package  through  his 
fingers — twenties  I  Gold,  yellow-back  twenties! 
There  was  a  sort  of  beatific  smile  on  the  Hawk's 
lips.  He  dropped  the  package  into  the  bag. 

Tens,  and  twenties,  and  fives — the  light,  in  a  curi- 
ously caressing  way,  was  lingering  on  the  little  for- 
tune as  it  lay  there  on  the  bottom  of  the  safe.  There 
was  only  a  pile  or  two  of  ones,  and  the  rest  was— 
what  was  that! 

The  smile  vanished  from  the  Hawk's  lips,  and,  in 
a  rigid,  tense,  strained  attitude,  he  hung  there,  mo- 
tionless. What  was  that — that  dull,  rasping,  sound  I 
It  was  like  some  one  clawing  at  the  wall  outside. 
The  window/ 

With  a  single  motion,  as  though  stirred  to  life  by 
some  galvanic  shock,  the  Hawk's  hand  shot  out  and 
swept  the  packages  of  banknotes  into  the  bag.  He 
snapped  off  his  flashlight.  The  room  was  in  dark- 
ness. 

That  sound  again!  And  now  a  creak!  The  win- 
dow was  being  opened.  Something  black  was  bulk- 
ing there  on  the  sill  outside — and  something  queerly 
white,  a  man's  face,  was  pressed  against  the  pane, 
peering  in. 

The  Hawk  glanced  sharply  around  him.  Inch  by 
inch  he  was  pushing  the  safe  door  shut.  He  could 
not  reach  the  door  leading  to  the  clerks'  office,  for 
he  would  have  to  pass  by  the  window,  and — he 
shrank  back  quickly,  the  safe  door  closed  but  still  un- 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  35 

locked,  and  crouched  low  in  the  corner  against  the 
wall.  The  window  slid  up  to  the  top,  and  with  a 
soft  pad,  like  some  animal  alighting  on  the  floor, 
the  man  had  sprung  into  the  room. 

The  Hawk's  fingers  crept  into  his  pocket  and  out 
again,  tight-closed  now  upon  an  automatic  pistol. 
The  other's  flashlight  winked,  went  out,  then  shot 
across  the  room,  locating  the  desk — and  once  more 
all  was  darkness. 

There  was  not  a  sound  now,  save  the  short,  hur- 
ried breathing  of  the  other,  panting  from  the  exertion 
of  his  climb.  Then  the  man's  step  squeaked  faintly 
crossing  the  room — and  the  Hawk,  a  few  inches  at 
a  time,  began  to  edge  along  the  wall  away  from  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  safe. 

Then  the  man's  flashlight  gleamed  again,  light- 
ing up  the  top  of  the  desk.  There  was  a  sharp,  rip- 
ping sound,  as  of  the  tearing  of  wood  under  pres- 
sure, and  the  upper  drawer,  forced  open  by  a  steel 
jimmy,  was  pulled  out. 

"Birds  of  a  feather!"  said  the  Hawk  grimly  to 
himself.  "Number  One,  of  the  Wire  Devils!  I 
didn't  beat  him  to  it  by  as  much  margin  as  I  thought 
I  would!" 

The  Hawk  shifted  his  automatic  to  the  hand  that 
was  clutching  the  pay  bag,  and,  with  the  other  hand, 
began  to  feel  in  wide  sweeps  over  the  wall  above  his 
head.  The  electric-light  switch,  he  had  noticed  in 
that  first  quick  glance  when  he  had  entered  the  room, 
a  glance  that  had  seemed  to  notice  nothing,  and  yet 


\ 

36  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

in  which  nothing  had  escaped  the  sharp,  trained  eyes, 
was  somewhere  about  here. 

"Dangerous — for  both  of  us — if  it's  seen  out- 
side," communed  the  Hawk  with  himself  again. 
"But  when  he  finds  the  safe  unlocked,  and  the  goods 
gone,  there'll  be  trouble.  If  he  gets  a  flashlight  on 
me,  he's  got  me  where  he  wants  me.  Ah — here  it 
is!"  The  Hawk's  fingers  touched  the  switch.  He 
lowered  the  pay  bag  cautiously  to  the  floor  between 
his  feet,  his  automatic  free  in  his  hand  again. 

There  was  a  rustling  of  papers  in  the  drawer; 
then  the  man's  hand,  holding  a  card,  was  outlined 
as  though  thrown  upon  a  screen,  as,  with  his  other 
hand,  he  focused  his  flashlight  upon  it.  Then  the 
flashlight  swung  an  arc  over  the  opposite  wall,  and 
pointed  a  pathway  to  the  safe,  as  the  man  turned 
abruptly  and  stepped  back  across  the  room. 

The  Hawk,  one  hand  raised  to  the  switch  on  the 
wall,  his  automatic  outflung  a  little  in  the  other,  tense, 
like  an  animal  in  leash,  watched  the  other's  move- 
ments. 

The  dark-outlined  form  was  in  shadowy  relief 
against  the  light,  that  played  now  upon  the  glistening 
knob  and  dial  of  the  safe.  The  man  gave  a  prelimi- 
nary, tentative  twist  at  the  handle.  Came  a  quick, 
dismayed,  hissing  sound,  like  the  sharp  intake  of 
breath.  The  safe  door  was  wrenched  open  with  a 
jerk.  There  was  a  low,  angry  cry  now.  The  man 
sprang  back,  and  as  though  involuntarily,  in  a  sort 
of  uncertain,  panic-struck  search,  his  flashlight  shot 
along  the  wall — and  fell  full  upon  the  Hawk. 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  37 

The  Hawk's  finger  pressed  the  switch.  The  room 
was  ablaze  with  light.  With  a  startled,  furious  oath, 
the  man's  hand  was  sweeping  significantly  toward 
his  pocket. 

"No,  you  don't!"  snarled  the  Hawk,  covering 
the  other.  "No,  you  don't!  Cut  that  out!"  His 
eyes,  behind  the  mask,  narrowed  suddenly.  "Hello !" 
he  sneered.  "It's  'Butcher'  Rose — I  might  have 
known  from  the  way  you  opened  that  drawer!" 

It  was  a  moment  before  the  man  answered. 

"Blast  you !"  he  whispered  finally.  "You  gave  me 
a  bit  of  a  start,  you  did !  I  thought  at  first  you  were 
a  'bull' !"  His  eyes  fastened  on  the  pay  bag  at  the 
Hawk's  feet.  The  top  gaped  open,  disclosing  the 
banknotes  inside.  The  man  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
Hawk's,  and  a  cunning  look  came  over  his  thin, 
hatchet-like  face.  "Caught  with  the  goods  this  time, 
eh?"  he  jerked  out. 

The  Hawk  smiled  unpleasantly. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "The  nest's  empty.  What  is  it 
they  used  to  tell  us  in  the  nursery? — it's  the  early 
bird  that  grabs  the  worm.  How  long  you  been  out 
in  these  parts,  Butcher?" 

"Look  here,"  said  the  Butcher  ingratiatingly,  ig- 
noring the  question,  "I  guess  it's  a  case  of  split—- 
eh?" 

"You've  got  a  nerve !"  ejaculated  the  Hawk  coolly. 

"Well,  put  that  light  out,  then,  and  we'll  talk  it 
over,"  suggested  the  Butcher.  "If  it's  seen  from 
outside,  we'll  both  get  caught." 

"I'd  rather  take  a  chance  on  that,  than  a  chance 


88  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

on  you,"  replied  the  Hawk  curtly.  "There's  noth- 
ing to  talk  over.  I've  got  the  coin,  and  you've  got 
a  frost — all  you've  got  to  do  now  is  beat  it." 

Sharp,  little,  black,  ferret  eyes  the  Butcher  had, 
and  they  roamed  around  the  room  now  in  an  ap- 
parently aimless  fashion — only  to  come  back  and 
fix  hungrily  on  the  bag  of  banknotes  again.  A  sul- 
len look  came  into  his  face,  and  the  jaw  muscles 
twitched  ominously. 

"So  you're  the  Hawk  they're  talking  about,  eh?" 
he  said,  trying  to  speak  smoothly.  "Well,  there's 
no  use  of  us  quarrelling.  If  you  know  me,  we  must 
be  old  pals.  Take  off  that  mask,  and  let's  have  a 
look  at  you.  There  ain't  any  reason  why  we  can't 
be  pals  again." 

"Nix!"  said  the  Hawk  softly.  "Nothing  doing, 
Butcher !  It  suits  me  pretty  well  the  way  it  is.  I've 
made  it  a  rule  all  my  life  to  play  a  lone  hand,  and 
the  more  I  see  of  the  raw  work  that  guys  like  you 
try  to  get  away  with,  the  more  I  pat  myself  on  the 
back.  Savvy?  Why,  say,  even  a  drag-worker  on 
Canal  Street  wouldn't  show  his  face  to  a  self-respect- 
ing crook  for  a  month,  he'd  be  so  ashamed,  if  he 
took  a  crowbar  to  a  desk  drawer  the  way  you  did, 
you  poor  boob !" 

The  Butcher's  face  flushed,  and  he  scowled. 

"You're  looking  for  trouble,  ain't  you !"  he  said 
hoarsely.  "Well,  mabbe  you'll  get  it — and  mabbe 
you'll  get  more  than  you're  looking  for.  How'd  you 
get  wise  to  this  game  to-night?" 

"It's  the  way  I  make  my  living — getting  wise. 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  89 

How'd  you  suppose?"  queried  the  Hawk  insolently. 

The  Butcher  was  chewing  at  his  lips  angrily;  his 
eyes,  closed  to  slits,  searched  the  Hawk's  masked 
face. 

"This  is  the  second  time!"  he  said,  between  his 
teeth.  "You  pinched  that  necklace,  and " 

"O-ho!"  exclaimed  the  Hawk,  with  a  grin.  "So 
you  were  after  that,  too,  were  you?" 

The  Butcher's  flush  deepened. 

"That's  none  of  your  damned  business!"  he  grit- 
ted. "And  if  I  thought "  He  bit  his  lips  quickly. 

"Go  on !"  invited  the  Hawk  sweetly.  "Don't  mind 
me.  If  you  thought — what?" 

"You've  had  the  luck  with  you,"  mumbled  the 
Butcher,  half  to  himself.  "It  can't  be  anything  else, 
there's  no  chance  of  a  leak.  But  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  something — your  luck's  going  to  get  a  hole 
kicked  in  it.  I'll  tell  you  something  more.  There's 
a  few  of  us  that  have  picked  out  this  little  stamping 
ground  for  ourselves,  and  we  ain't  fond  of  trespass- 
ers. Get  that?  It  ain't  going  to  be  healthy  for  you 
to  linger  around  here  over  more  than  one  train !" 

"Are  the  rest  of  'em  all  like  you?"  inquired  the 
Hawk  maliciously. 

"You'll  find  out  quicker  than  you'll  want  to,  per- 
haps !"  the  Butcher  retorted  furiously. 

"All  right!"  said  the  Hawk.  "And  now  I'll  tell 
you  a  little  something.  I  don't  know  who  are  in  this 
gang  of  yours,  but  you  might  take  them  a  little  mes- 
sage from  me.  If  they're  finding  it  crowded  out  here, 
they'd  better  move  on  to  somewhere  where  compe- 


40  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

tition  isn't  so  likely  to  put  them  out  of  business 
through  lack  of  brains,  because  I'm  kind  of  figuring 
on  hanging  around  until  it  gets  time  to  open  my 
chateau  down  at  Palm  Beach  and  stick  my  feet  up 
on  the  sofa  for  a  well-earned  rest.  Do  you  stumble 
to  that?  And" — the  Hawk  was  drawling  now — "I 
might  say,  Butcher,  that  I  don't  like  you.  My  fin- 
gers are  crossed  on  that  trespassing  gag.  It  don't 
go !  I  don't  scare  for  any  half-baked  outfit  of  near- 
crooks  !  I  stick  here  as  long  as  there's  anything 
worth  sticking  for." 

The  Butcher's  eyes  seemed  to  be  fascinated  by  the 
pay  bag — they  were  on  it  again.  He  choked  a  little, 
swallowing  hard ;  and,  attempting  a  change  of  front, 
forced  a  smile. 

"Well,  don't  get  sore !"  he  said,  in  a  whining  tone. 
"Mabbe  I  was  only  trying  to  chuck  a  bluff,  and  got 
called.  But,  say,  how'd  you  like  to  break  in  here 
to-night  like  I  did,  and  find  another  fellow'd  got  all 
the  swag?  Say,  it's  damned  rough,  ain't  it?  Say, 
it's  fierce!  And,  look  here,  I'm  in  on  it  now,  any- 
how. I  know  who  took  it.  I'm  going  to  keep  my 
mouth  shut,  ain't  I?  You  ain't  going  to  leave  me 
out  in  the  cold,  are  you?  All  I  ask  is  a  split." 

"It's  not  much!"  said  the  Hawk,  in  a  velvet  voice. 
"It  hardly  seems  enough.  You're  too  modest,  Butch- 
er. Why  don't  you  ask  for  the  whole  of  it?  You 
might  as  well — you'd  stand  just  as  much  chance  of 
getting  it !" 

The  smile  faded  from  the  Butcher's  lips,  and  his 
face  became  contorted  with  rage  again.  He  raised 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  41 

his  fist  and  shook  it  at  the  Hawk.  He  cursed  in 
abandon,  his  lips  livid,  beside  himself  with  passion. 

"You'll  get  yours  for  this!"  He  choked,  in  his 
fury,  over  his  words.  "You  think  you're  slick!  I'll 
show  you  what  you're  up  against  inside  of  twenty- 
four  hours!  You'll  crawl  for  this,  d'ye  hear,  blast 
you — you'll  crawl! — you'll " 

The  Hawk's  automatic,  dangling  nonchalantly  in 
his  hand,  swung  suddenly  upward  to  a  level  with 
the  other's  eyes. 

"That's  enough,  you  cheap  skate!" — there  was  a 
cold,  menacing  ring  in  the  Hawk's  voice  now.  "I've 
heard  enough  from  you.  You  and  your  hot-air 
crowd  of  moth-eaten  lags!  If  you,  or  any  of  you, 
run  foul  of  me  again,  you  won't  get  off  so  easy !  Tell 
'em  that!  Tell  'em  the  Hawk  said  so!  And  you 
beat  it!  And  beat  it — now!1'  He  caught  up  the 
pay  bag,  and  advanced  a  step. 

The  Butcher  retreated  sullenly. 

"Get  out  of  that  window!"  ordered  the  Hawk 
evenly.  "And  take  a  last  tip  from  me.  If  you  try 
to  plant  me,  if  you  let  a  peep  out  of  you  while  I'm 
making  my  own  getaway,  I'll  get  you  for  it,  Butcher, 
if  it's  the  last  thing  I  ever  do.  Go  on,  now!  Step 
quicker !" 

Still  sullenly,  mumbling,  his  mouth  working,  the 
Butcher  retreated  backward  toward  the  window. 
The  Hawk,  his  lips  like  a  thin  straight  line  just  show- 
ing under  the  mask,  followed  grimly,  step  by  step. 
And  then,  suddenly,  both  men  halted,  and  their  eyes 
met  and  held  each  other's  in  a  long  tense  gaze. 


42  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

From  outside  in  the  corridor  came  the  sound  of 
voices  and  footsteps.  The  footsteps  drew  nearer; 
the  voices  grew  louder.  The  Hawk  shot  a  glance 
toward  the  door.  He  drew  in  his  breath  sharply. 
No,  there  was  no  fanlight,  the  light  would  not  show 
in  the  hall.  That  was  the  superintendent's  voice. 
That  letter  Lanson  was  going  to  send  down  on  No. 
8  1  The  other,  probably,  was  MacVightie.  Yes ;  it 
was  MacVightie — he  caught  the  detective's  gruff 
tones  now.  The  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
corridor  from  the  paymaster's  room  opened. 

The  Butcher  licked  his  lips. 

"Me  for  the  window,  and  for  it  quick  1"  he  mut- 
tered under  his  breath. 

He  turned,  and,  his  back  to  the  Hawk  now,  tip- 
toed to  the  window,  turned  again  sideways,  as  though 
to  throw  one  leg  over  the  sill — and  his  right  hand, 
hidden,  suddenly  lifted  the  side  of  his  coat. 

It  came  quick,  quick  as  the  winking  of  an  eye. 
Racketing  through  room  and  building,  like  the  de- 
tonation of  a  cannon  in  the  silence,  came  the  roar 
of  a  revolver  shot,  as  the  Butcher  fired  through  his 
coat  pocket.  Mechanically,  the  Hawk  staggered 
backward;  and  then,  the  quick,  keen  brain  working 
like  lightning,  he  reeled,  dropped  the  pay  bag,  and 
clutched  wildly  at  his  side.  He  was  not  hit.  The 
Butcher  had  missed.  So  that  was  the  man's  game! 
Clever  enough  I  They'd  break  in  here  at  the  sound 
of  the  shot,  and  find  him  dead  or  wounded  on  the 
floor! 

The  Butcher,  a  devil's  triumph  in  his  face  now, 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  43 

came  leaping  back  from  the  window,  and,  stooping, 
snatched  at  the  pay  bag. 

"I'd  put  another  in  you  to  make  sure,"  whispered 
the  Butcher  fiercely;  "only  they'll  get  you  anyway, 
you " 

The  Hawk  straightened,  his  arm  streaked  outward 
from  his  side,  his  pistol  butt  crashed  on  the  Butch- 
er's skull,  and  he  was  upon  the  other  like  a  flash,  his 
free  hand  at  the  Butcher's  throat. 

From  the  room  opposite  came  startled  cries; 
across  the  corridor  came  the  rush  of  feet — then  the 
doorhandle  was  tried,  the  door  shaken  violently. 

The  Butcher  was  struggling  but  feebly,  making 
only  a  pitiful  effort  to  loosen  the  Hawk's  clutch  upon 
his  throat,  hanging  almost  limply  in  the  Hawk's 
arms,  half  dazed  by  the  blow  upon  his  head.  White 
to  the  lips  with  passion,  the  Hawk  whipped  his  hand 
into  the  other's  pocket,  whipped  out  the  other's  re- 
volver, and  flung  the  man  away  from  him.  And 
then,  as  the  Butcher  reeled  and  lurched  backward  to 
the  window,  and,  clawing  frantically  at  the  sill,  at- 
tempted to  work  his  way  out,  the  Hawk  ran  silently 
back,  picked  up  the  pay  bag,  and,  jumping  to  the 
window  again,  caught  the  Butcher  roughly  by  the 
collar  of  the  coat. 

The  Butcher,  white,  haggard-faced  with  fear, 
moaned. 

"For  God's  sake!"  he  pleaded  piteously.  "Let 
me  go !  Let  me  go  I  For  God's  sake,  let  me  go — 
they'll  get  me !" 

There  was  a  terrific  crash  upon  the  door,  as  of 


44  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

some  heavy  body  hurled  against  it.  The  Hawk 
laughed  mirthlessly. 

"If  I  let  you  go,  you'd  break  your  neck!" — the 
Hawk's  words  were  coming  through  clenched  teeth. 
"Don't  worry,  Butcher!  They'll  not  get  you.  I 
don't  want  them  to  get  you.  I  want  to  get  you  my- 
self for  this.  Some  day,  Butcher,  some  day  /'//  do 
the  getting!"  He  pushed  the  Butcher's  feet  over  the 
sill.  "Feel  with  your  toes  for  the  window  casing  be- 
neath! Quick!"  He  leaned  out,  gripping  at  the 
Butcher's  collar,  lowering  the  man — his  lips  were 
close  against  the  Butcher's  ear.  "Some  day — for 
this — you  yellow  cur — you  and  me,  Butcher — re- 
member— some  day!" 

A  crash  again  upon  the  door !  The  Butcher's  feet 
were  on  the  lower  sill;  but  here  the  man  lost  his 
hold,  and  toppled  to  the  ground.  The  Hawk 
glanced  backward  into  the  room.  The  door  was 
yielding  now.  He  looked  out  of  the  window  again. 
The  Butcher  had  regained  his  feet,  and  was  sway- 
ing against  the  wall,  holding  to  it,  making  his  way 
slowly,  weakly  toward  the  corner. 

The  Hawk  threw  one  leg  over  the  sill.  With  a 
rip  and  tear,  the  door  smashed  inward,  sagging  from 
its  lower  hinge.  Came  a  hoarse  yell.  MacVightie 
was  plunging  through  the  doorway. 

Instantly  the  Hawk,  hugging  the  pay  bag,  drew 
back  his  leg,  and  dove  into  the  clerk's  room  through 
the  door  which  he  had  left  ajar.  There  would  have 
been  no  use  in  letting  the  Butcher  go  at  all  if  he  led 
the  chase  through  the  window — the  man  was  barely 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  45 

crawling  away.  Across  the  room,  light  enough  now 
from  the  open  doorway  behind  him  to  point  the 
way,  raced  the  Hawk.  He  reached  the  corridor 
door,  as  MacVightie  lunged  through  the  connecting 
door  in  pursuit. 

MacVightie's  voice  rose  in  a  bellow  of  warning: 

"Look  out  there,  LansonI  The  next  door — 
quick!" 

But  the  Hawk  was  the  quicker.  He  tore  the  door 
open,  and  dashed  through,  just  eluding  the  superin- 
tendent and  another  man — the  dispatcher  probably, 
attracted  by  the  row — as  they  sprang  forward  from 
the  paymaster's  door. 

Running  like  a  deer,  the  Hawk  made  for  the  stair- 
way. It  was  lighter  now  in  the  hall.  The  dispatch- 
er's door  along  at  the  farther  end  was  open.  At  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  a  call  boy,  wide-eyed,  gaped,  open- 
mouthed.  The  Hawk  brushed  the  boy  aside  incon- 
tinently, and,  taking  the  stairs  three  and  four  at  a 
time,  leaped  downward,  MacVightie's  bull-like  roar 
echoing  behind  him,  the  top  stairs  creaking  under 
the  detective's  rush. 

The  street  door  opened  outward,  and  as  the  Hawk 
reached  it,  and,  wrenching  at  the  knob,  pushed  it 
open,  there  was  a  flash,  the  report  of  a  revolver 
shot — and,  with  a  venomous  spat,  the  bullet  buried 
itself  in  the  door  jamb,  not  an  inch  from  his  head,  it 
seemed,  for  the  wind  of  the  bullet  was  on  his  cheek. 

Cries  sounded  now  from  the  railroad  yard;  but 
the  street  in  front  of  him,  deserted,  was  still  un- 
disturbed. He  was  across  it  in  a  twinkling,  and, 


46  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

passing  the  saloon  that  was  now  closed,  darted  into 
the  lane. 

He  flung  a  glance  over  his  shoulder — and  his  lips 
set  hard.  MacVightie,  big  man  though  he  was,  was 
no  mean  antagonist  in  a  race.  The  detective,  quicker 
in  initiative,  quicker  on  his  feet,  had  outdistanced 
both  Lanson  and  the  dispatcher,  and  was  already 
halfway  across  the  street. 

Again  MacVightie  fired. 

On  the  Hawk  ran.  If  he  could  reach  the  next 
corner — providing  there  was  no  one  about  the  street 
— there  was  a  way,  a  risky  way,  but  still  a  way,  his 
best  chance  of  escape.  The  cheap  combination  lodg- 
ing house  and  saloon,  that  was  just  around  the  cor- 
ner, was  where  he  had  a  room.  Yes,  it  was  his  one 
chance!  He  must  get  to  cover  somewhere  without 
an  instant's  delay.  With  MacVightie  firing  now, 
emptying  his  revolver  up  the  lane,  with  the  yells  and 
shouts  growing  constantly  in  volume  from  farther 
back  toward  the  station,  it  was  only  a  question  of 
minutes  before  the  whole  neighbourhood  would  be 
aroused. 

Again  he  glanced  behind  him.  It  was  very  dark 
in  the  lane.  He  was  grimly  conscious  that  it  was  the 
blackness,  and  not  MacVightie's  poor  marksman- 
ship, that  had  saved  him  s^>  far.  That  flash  of  the 
other's  revolver  was  perhaps  fifty  yards  away.  He 
had  gained  a  little,  then!  If  there  was  any  one 
around  the  corner,  the  plan  of  reaching  his  room 
would  not  serve  him,  and  he  would  still  have  to  run 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  47 

for  it.  Well,  he  would  see  in  an  instant — it  was  only 
two  yards  more — a  yard — now ! 

Without  slackening  his  pace,  at  top  speed  he  swung 
from  the  lane — and,  with  a  gasp  of  relief  at  sight 
of  an  empty  street,  slipped  into  a  doorway  just  be- 
yond the  now  dark  entrance  to  a  saloon  that  oc- 
cupied most  of  the  ground  floor  of  a  dirty  and  squalid 
three-story  building. 

The  door  gave  on  a  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  and 
up  these  the  Hawk  sprang  swiftly  and  with  scarcely 
a  sound.  And  now,  as  he  ran,  he  pulled  his  mask 
from  his  face  and  thrust  it  into  the  pay  bag;  a  pocket- 
book  from  his  inside  coat  pocket  followed  the  mask, 
and,  with  the  pocketbook,  the  flashlight,  and  the 
two  pistols,  his  own  and  the  Butcher's.  He  opened 
a  door  at  the  head  of  the  landing,  and  stepped  into  a 
room,  leaving  the  door  partly  open. 

He  was  not  safe  yet — far  from  it!  He  did  not 
under-estimate  MacVightie.  It  would  be  obvious  to 
MacVightie  that  he  was  not  far  enough  ahead  to 
have  disappeared  in  any  but  one  way — into  some 
building  within  a  very  few  yards  of  the  lane !  And 
the  presumption,  at  least,  would  be  that  this  was 
the  one. 

The  Hawk  worked  now  with  almost  incredible 
speed.  He  switched  on  the  light,  ran  to  the  window 
that  opened  on  the  rear  of  the  building,  felt  with  one 
hand  along  the  sill  outside,  lifted  the  pay  bag  out 
of  the  window,  let  go  of  it,  and  turned  instantly  back 
into  the  room.  He  hung  up  his  hat  on  a  wall  peg, 
and  tearing  off  his  jacket,  flung  it  haphazardly  upon 


48  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  bed.  There  was  a  small  table  against  the  wall 
near  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The  Hawk  opened  a 
drawer,  snatched  up  a  pack  of  cards,  and  sat  down 
at  the  table. 

The  street  door  opened  and  closed.  A  quick, 
heavy  tread  sounded  on  the  stairs. 

In  his  shirt  sleeves,  his  back  to  the  door,  the  Hawk 
was  coolly  playing  solitaire. 

"I  guess  I'd  better  be  smoking,"  murmured  the 
Hawk.  "Maybe  I'm  breathing  a  little  hard." 

He  picked  up  a  pipe  from  the  table,  lighted  a 
match — and,  half  the  deck  of  cards  in  one  hand,  the 
lighted  match  in  the  other,  swung  around  in  his  chair 
with  a  startled  jerk. 

The  door  slammed  back  against  the  wall.  Mac- 
Vightie  had  unceremoniously  kicked  it  wide  open. 
MacVightie  was  standing  on  the  threshold. 

The  Hawk,  in  a  sort  of  surprised  gasp,  sucked  the 
flame  of  the  match  down  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe, 
and  stared  at  MacVightie  through  a  curtain  of  to- 
bacco smoke.  The  detective's  eyes  travelled  sharply 
from  the  Hawk  around  the  room,  came  back  to  the 
Hawk,  narrowed,  and,  stepping  into  the  room,  he 
shut  the  door  with  equal  lack  of  ceremony  behind 
him. 

"Say,  you  got  a  gall !"  ejaculated  the  Hawk. 

"You  bet  your  life  I  have !"  flung  out  MacVigh- 
tie. "Now  then,  my  bucko,  what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"Say,"  said  the  Hawk,  as  though  obsessed  with 
but  a  single  idea,  "say,  you  got  a  gall!  You  got  a 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  49 

gall,  busting  into  a  fellow's  room  and  asking  him 
what  he's  doing  there !  Say,  maybe  you  might  an- 
swer the  same  question  yourself — eh?  What  are 
you  doing  here?" 

"Your  room,  is  it?"  snapped  MacVightie. 

"Sure,  it's  my  rooml"  replied  the  Hawk,  a  little 
tartly. 

"How  long  you  been  here?" 

"  'Bout  a  week" — the  Hawk  was  growing  ungra- 
cious. 

"Boarding  here?" 

"Yes." 

"Where'd  you  come  from?"  MacVightie  was 
clipping  off  his  words.  "What  do  you  do  for  a  liv- 
ing?" 

"Say,"  said  the  Hawk  politely,  "you  go  to  hell!" 

MacVightie  stepped  forward  toward  the  Hawk 
with  an  ominous  scowl ;  and,  throwing  back  the  lapel 
of  his  coat,  tapped  grimly  with  his  forefinger  on  a 
shield  that  decorated  his  vest. 

The  Hawk  whistled  low. 

"O-ho!"  said  the  Hawk,  with  sudden  cordiality. 
"Well,  why  didn't  you  say  so  before?" 

"I'm  saying  it  now!"  snarled  MacVightie.  "Well, 
where  do  you  come  from?" 

"Chicago,"  said  the  Hawk. 

"What's  your  business?" — MacVightie's  eyes 
were  roving  sharply  again  around  the  room. 

"Barkeep — when  I  can  get  a  job,"  answered  the 
Hawk;  and  then,  insinuatingly:  "And,  say,  I'm 


50  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

looking  for  one  now,  and  if  you  can  put  me  on  to 

anything  I'd " 

"I  guess  you've  got  to  show  me !"  growled  Mac- 

Vightie,  uncompromisingly. 

"Look  here,"  ventured  the  Hawk,  "what's  up?" 
"I'm  waiting!"  prompted  MacVightie  significant- 

ly. 

"Oh,  all  right!"  The  Hawk  flared  up  a  little. 
"If  you  love  your  grouch,  keep  on  hugging  it  tight!" 
He  jerked  his  hand  toward  the  coat  that  was  lying 
on  the  bed.  "I  must  have  lost  the  letter  the  pastor 
of  my  church  gave  me,  but  there's  a  couple  there 
from  the  guys  back  in  Chicago  that  I  worked  for, 
and  there's  my  union  card  with  them.  Help  your- 
self!" 

MacVightie  picked  up  the  coat  brusquely,  shoved 
his  hand  into  the  inside  pocket,  brought  out  several 
letters,  and  began  to  read  them. 

The  Hawk  shuffled  the  half  deck  of  cards  in  his 
hand  monotonously. 

There  was  a  puzzled  frown  on  MacVightie's  face, 
as  he  finally  tossed  the  letters  down  on  the  bed. 

"Satisfied?"  inquired  the  Hawk  pleasantly. 

MacVightie's  frown  deepened. 

"Yes,  as  Tar  as  that  goes,"  he  said  tersely;  and 
then,  evenly,  his  eyes  boring  into  the  Hawk :  "About 
five  minutes  ago  a  man  ran  into  this  house  from  the 
street.  What's  become  of  him?" 

The  Hawk  started  in  amazement — and  slowly 
shook  his  head. 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  51 

"I  guess  you've  got  the  wrong  dope,  ain't  you?" 
he  suggested  earnestly. 

"Don't  try  that  game!"  cautioned  MacVightie 
grimly.  "And  don't  lie !  He  had  to  come  up  these 
stairs,  your  door  was  partly  open,  and  he  couldn't 
have  passed  without  you  knowing  it." 

"That's  what  I'm  saying,"  agreed  the  Hawk,  even 
more  earnestly.  "That's  why  I'm  saying  you  must 
have  got  the  wrong  dope.  Of  course,  he  couldn't 
have  got  by  without  me  hearing  him!  That's  a 
cinch !  And,  I'm  telling  you  straight,  he  didn't." 

"Didn't  he?"  MacVightie's  smile  was  thin. 
"Then  he  came  in  here — into  this  room." 

"In  here?"  echoed  the  Hawk  weakly.  His  gaze 
wandered  helplessly  around  the  room.  "Well,  all 
you've  got  to  do  is  look." 

"I'm  going  to!"  announced  MacVightie  curtly — 
and  with  a  sudden  jerk  he  yanked  the  single  bed  out 
from  the  wall.  He  peered  behind  and  beneath  it; 
then,  stepping  over  to  a  cretonne  curtain  in  the  cor- 
ner that  served  as  wardrobe,  he  pulled  it  roughly 
aside. 

There  were  no  other  places  of  possible  conceal- 
ment. MacVightie  chewed  at  his  under  lip,  and 
eyed  the  Hawk  speculatively. 

The  Hawk's  eyes  were  still  travelling  bewilderedly 
about  the  room,  as  though  he  still  expected  to  find 
something. 

"Are  you  dead  sure  he  came  into  this  house,"  he 
inquired  heavily,  as  though  the  problem  were  en- 
tirely beyond  him. 


52  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

MacVightie  hesitated. 

"Well — no,"  he  acknowledged,  after  a  moment. 
"I  guess  you're  straight  all  right,  and  I'll  admit  I 
didn't  see  him  come  in ;  but  I'd  have  pretty  near  taken 
an  oath  on  it." 

"Then  I  guess  he  must  have  ducked  somewhere 
else,"  submitted  the  Hawk  sapiently.  "There  wasn't 
no  one  went  by  that  door — I'm  giving  it  to  you  on 
the  level." 

MacVightie's  reluctant  smile  was  a  wry  grimace. 

"Yes,  I  reckon  it's  my  mistake."  His  voice  lost 
its  snarl,  and  his  fingers  groped  down  into  his  vest 
pocket.  "Here,  have  a  cigar,"  he  invited  placat- 
ingly. 

"Why,  say — thanks" — the  Hawk  beamed  radi- 
antly. "Say,  I " 

"All  right,  young  fellow" — with  a  wave  of  his 
hand,  MacVightie  moved  to  the  door.  "All  right, 
young  fellow.  No  harm  done,  eh?  Good-night!" 

The  door  closed.  The  footsteps  without  grew 
fainter,  and  died  away. 

The  Hawk,  staring  at  the  door,  apostrophised  the 
doorknob. 

"Well,  say,  what  do  you  know  about  that!"  he 
said  numbly.  "I  wonder  what's  up?" 

He  rose  from  his  chair  after  a  moment  as  though 
moved  by  a  sort  of  subconscious  impulse,  mechani- 
cally pushed  his  bed  back  against  the  wall,  and  re- 
turned to  his  chair. 

He  dug  out  his  pipe  abstractedly,  filled  it,  and 
lighted  it.  He  gathered  up  the  cards,  shuffled  them, 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  53 

and  began  to  lay  them  out  again  on  the  table — and 
paused,  and  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  table 
top. 

"They're  after  some  guy  that's  ducked  his  nut 
somewhere  around  here,"  he  decided  aloud.  "I 
wonder  what's  up?" 

The  Hawk  spread  out  his  remaining  cards — and 
swept  them  away  from  him  into  an  indiscriminate 
heap. 

"Aw,  to  blazes  with  cards!"  he  ejaculated  impa- 
tiently. 

He  put  his  feet  up  on  the  table,  and  sucked  stead- 
ily at  his  pipe. 

"It's  a  cinch  he  never  went  by  that  door,"  the 
Hawk  assured  the  toe  of  his  boot.  "I  guess  he 
handed  that  'bull'  one,  all  right,  all  right." 

The  minutes  passed.  The  Hawk,  engrossed,  con- 
tinued to  suck  on  his  pipe.  Then  from  far  down  the 
stairs  there  came  a  faint  creak,  and  an  instant  later 
the  outer  door  closed  softly. 

The  Hawk's  feet  came  down  from  the  table,  and 
the  Hawk  smiled — grimly. 

"Tut,  tut!"  chided  the  Hawk.  "That  treadmill 
diminuendo  on  the  top  step  and  the  keyhole  stunt 
is  pretty  raw,  Mr.  MacVightie — pretty  raw!  You 
forgot  the  front  door,  Mr.  MacVightie — I  don't 
seem  to  remember  having  heard  it  open  or  close  until 
just  now!" 

The  back  of  the  Hawk's  chair,  as  he  pushed  it  well 
away  from  the  table  and  stood  up,  curiously  enough 
intercepted  itself  between  the  keyhole  and  the 


54.  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

interior  of  the  room.  He  stepped  to  the  door,  and 
slipped  the  bolt  quietly  into  place ;  then,  going  to  the 
window,  he  reached  out,  and,  from  where  it  hung 
upon  a  nail  driven  into  the  sill,  picked  up  the  pay  bag. 

"That's  a  pretty  old  gag,  too,"  observed  the  Hawk 
almost  apologetically.  "I  was  lucky  to  get  by  with 
it" 

i  The  Hawk's  attention  was  now  directed  to  his 
trunk,  that  was  between  the  table  and  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  He  lifted  the  lid  back  against  the  wall,  and 
removed  an  ingeniously  fashioned  false  top,  in  the 
shape  of  a  tray,  that  fitted  innocently  into  the  curva- 
ture of  the  lid.  The  Hawk  stared  at  a  magnificent 
diamond  necklace  that  glittered  and  gleamed  on  the 
bottom  of  the  tray,  as  its  thousand  facets  caught  the 
light — and  grinned. 

'  "If  you'd  only  known,  eh — Mr.  MacVightie  I"  he 
murmured. 

From  the  pay  bag  the  Hawk  took  out  the  pack- 
ages of  banknotes,  the  flashlight,  the  mask,  the  two 
pistols,  and  packed  them  neatly  away  in  the  tray. 
The  only  article  left  in  the  bag  was  his  pocketbook. 
He  opened  this,  disclosing  a  number  of  crisp,  new 
ten-dollar  bills.  He  held  one  of  them  up  to  the 
light  for  a  moment,  studying  it  admiringly. 

"I  guess  these  won't  be  much  more  good  around 
here,  according  to  that  little  conversation  between 
MacVightie  and  the  superintendent,"  he  muttered — 
and,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  tossed  the  entire 
number  into  the  tray. 

He  fitted  the  false  top  back  into  the  lid,  and  closed 


THE  PAYMASTER'S  SAFE  55 

the  trunk.  There  remained  the  empty  pay  bag.  He 
frowned  at  it  for  an  instant;  then,  picking  it  up,  he 
tucked  it  under  the  mattress  of  his  bed. 

"I'll  get  rid  of  that  in  the  morning" — he  nodded 
his  head,  as  he  turned  down  the  bed  covers. 

The  Hawk  began  to  undress,  and  at  intervals 
voiced  snatches  of  his  thoughts  aloud. 

"Pretty  close  shave,"  said  the  Hawk,  "pretty 
close.  .  .  .  Ten  thousand  dollars  is  some  haul.  .  .  . 
All  right  as  long  as  they  don't  find  out  I've  got  the 
key  to  their  cipher.  .  .  .  And  so  Butcher  Rose  is 
one  of  the  gang,  eh?  ...  Number  One — Butcher 
Rose.  .  .  .  Guess  he  got  away  all  right — from  Mac- 
Vightie.  .  .  .  He  nearly  did  me.  .  .  .  Pretty  close 
shave.  .  .  ." 

The  Hawk  turned  out  the  light,  and  got  into  bed. 

"I  guess  I  played  in  luck  to-night,"  said  the  Hawk 
softly,  and  for  the  second  time  that  night.  "Yes, 
I  guess  I  did." 


—  IV  — 

AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION 

IT  was  twenty-four  hours  later. 
A  half  mile  away,  along  a  road  that  showed 
like  a  grey  thread  in  the  night,  twinkled  a  few 
lights  from  the  little  cluster  of  houses  that 
made  the  town  of  Bald  Creek.     At  the  rear  of  the 
station  itself,  in  the  shadow  of  the  walls,  it  was  inky 
black. 

There  was  stillness!  Then  the  chartering  of  a 
telegraph  instrument — and,  coincident  with  this,  low, 
scarcely  audible,  a  sound  like  the  gnawing  of  a  rat. 

The  chattering  of  the  instrument  ceased;  and, 
coincident  again,  the  low,  gnawing  sound  ceased — 
and,  crouched  against  a  rear  window,  the  Hawk 
chuckled  a  little  grimly  to  himself.  Within,  and 
diagonally  across  from  the  window,  an  otherwise 
dark  interior  was  traversed  by  a  dull  ray  of  light 
that  filtered  in  through  the  open  connecting  door  of 
the  operator's  room  beyond.  Inside  there  were  Lan- 
son,  the  division  superintendent,  and  Martin,  the 
trusted  Bald  Creek  operator;  while  at  any  minute 
now,  MacVightie  would  be  up  on  No.  12.  They 
were  preparing  to  spring  their  trap  for  the  Wire 
Devils  to-night !  The  Hawk  was  quite  well-informed 

56 


AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION  57 

on  this  point,  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  the 
Hawk  himself  had  not  been  entirely  idle  during  those 
twenty-four  hours  that  were  just  past ! 

Again  the  sounder  broke  into  a  splutter;  but  this 
time  the  gnawing  sound  was  not  resumed — the  win- 
dow fastenings  were  loosened  now. 

Came  then  the  distant  rumble  of  an  approaching 
train;  the  rumble  deepening  into  a  roar;  the  roar  dis- 
integrating itself  into  its  component  sounds,  the 
wheel  trucks  beating  at  the  rail  joints,  the  bark  of 
the  exhaust;  then  the  scream  of  the  brakeshoes  bit- 
ing at  the  wheel  tires;  the  hiss  of  steam — and  in  the 
mimic  pandemonium,  the  Hawk  raised  the  window, 
and  crawled  in  over  the  sill. 

And  again  the  Hawk  chuckled  to  himself.  Up 
and  down  the  line  to-night,  at  all  stations  where 
there  were  no  night  operators,  the  road's  detectives, 
stood  guard  over  the  telegraph  instruments.  It  had 
been  MacVightie's  plan,  originated  the  night  before. 
It  was  very  clever  of  MacVightie — if  somewhat 
abortive !  Also,  quite  irrelevant  of  course,  and  quite 
apart  from  that  little  matter  of  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars which  he,  the  Hawk,  had  taken  from  the  pay- 
master's safe  last  night,  MacVightie  to-night  was 
likely  to  be  in  no  very  pleasant  mood! 

The  engine  without,  blowing  from  a  full  head  of 
steam,  drowned  out  all  other  sounds.  The  Hawk 
picked  his  way  across  the  room  to  a  position  near 
the  connecting  door,  and  composedly  seated  himself 
upon  the  floor  behind  a  number  of  piled-up  boxes 
and  parcels.  With  a  grin  of  acknowledgment  to 


58  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  escaping  steam,  he  coolly  moved  two  of  the  par- 
cels a  few  inches  to  right  and  left,  thus  providing 
himself  with  an  excellent  view  into  the  operator's 
room.  From  one  pocket  he  took  an  exceedingly 
small  flashlight,  and  from  another  a  notebook,  and 
from  his  hip  pocket  his  automatic  pistol.  This  latter 
he  transferred  to  his  right-hand  coat  pocket.  Bunch- 
ing the  bottom  of  his  coat  over  his  hand,  he  flashed 
on  the  tiny  ray,  found  a  convenient  ledge  formed  by 
one  of  the  boxes,  and  upon  this  laid  down  his  note- 
book. The  first  page,  as  he  opened  the  book,  con- 
tained a  neatly  drawn  sketch  of  the  interior  of  Bald 
Creek  station.  He  turned  this  over,  leaving  the  book 
open  at  a  blank  page,  and  switched  off  his  light. 

The  door  from  the  platform  opened  and  closed, 
as  the  train  pulled  out  again,  a  man  stepped  into  the 
operator's  room — and  in  the  darkness  the  Hawk 
smiled  appreciatively.  It  was  MacVightie,  and  Mac- 
Vightie's  thin  lips  were  drawn  tighter  than  usual, 
and  the  brim  of  the  slouch  hat,  though  pulled  far 
forward,  did  not  hide  the  scowl  upon  MacVightie's 
countenance. 

"Well,  you're  here  all  right,  Lanson,  eh?"  he 
flung  out  brusquely.  "Nothing  yet,  by  any  chance, 
of  course?" 

Lanson,  from  a  chair  at  the  operator's  elbow, 
nodded  a  greeting. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said. 

MacVightie  was  glancing  sharply  around  him. 

"Martin,"  he  ordered  abruptly,  "close  those  two 
ticket  wickets  1" 


AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION  59 

The  operator  rose  obediently,  and  pulled  down 
the  little  windows  that  opened,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  office,  on  the  men's  and  women's  waiting  rooms. 

"What's  that  door  there?"  demanded  MacVigh- 
tie,  pointing  toward  the  rear  room. 

"Just  a  place  I  had  partitioned  off  for  stores  and 
small  express  stuff,"  Martin  answered.  "There's  no 
back  entrance." 

"All  right,  then,"  said  MacVightie.  He  pulled 
up  a  chair  for  himself  on  the  other  side  of  the  op- 
erator, as  Martin  returned  to  his  seat.  "You  know 
what  you're  here  for,  Martin — what  you've  to  do? 
Mr.  Lanson  has  told  you?" 

"Yes,"  Martin  replied.  "I'm  to  test  out  for  east 
or  west,  if  there's  any  of  that  monkeying  on  the  wire 
to-night." 

"Show  me  how  it's  done,"  directed  MacVightie 
tersely. 

The  operator  reached  over  to  the  switchboard 
and  picked  up  a  key-plug. 

"I've  only  got  to  plug  this  in — here — or  here. 
Those  are  my  ground  wires  east  and  west.  The 
main  batteries  are  west  of  us  at  Selkirk,  you  know. 
If  I  ground  out  everything  east,  for  instance,  and 
he's  working  to  the  east  of  us  the  sounder'll  stop 
because  I've  cut  him  off  from  the  main  batteries,  and 
we'll  hear  nothing  unless  I  adjust  the  relay  down  to 
get  the  weak  circuit  from  the  local  batteries.  If 
he's  working  west  of  us  the  sounder  will  be  much 
stronger  because  the  main  batteries  at  Selkirk,  with 


60  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  eastern  half  of  the  division  cut  out,  will  be  work- 
ing on  a  shorter  circuit." 

"I  see."  MacVightie  frowned.  "And  he'd  know 
it — so  Mr.  Lanson  told  me  last  night." 

"Yes;  he'd  know  it,"  said  Martin.  "The  same 
as  we  would." 

"Well,  you  can  do  it  pretty  quick,  can't  you?"  sug- 
gested MacVightie.  "Sort  of  accidentally  like !  We 
don't  want  to  throw  a  scare  into  him.  You'd  know 
almost  instantly  whether  he  was  east  or  west, 
wouldn't  you  ?  That's  all  that's  necessary — to-night 1 
Then  let  him  go  ahead  again.  We'll  have  found 
out  what  we  want  to  know."  He  turned  to  Lanson, 
his  voice  rasping  suddenly.  "Did  you  see  the  Jour- 
nal  on  the  'Crime  Wave'  this  afternoon?" 

Lanson's  alert,  grey  eyes  took  on  an  angry  glint. 

"No;  I  didn't  see  it,  but  I  suppose  it's  the  old 
story.  I  wish  they'd  cut  it  out!  It  hurts  the  road, 
and  it  doesn't  get  them  anywhere." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  MacVightie,  with  a  thin 
smile;  "but  it  gets  me!  Yes,  it's  about  the  same — 
all  except  the  last  of  it.  Big  headlines :  'Ten  thou- 
sand dollars  stolen  from  paymaster's  safe  last  night 
— What  is  being  done  to  stop  this  reign  of  assassina- 
tion, theft,  outrage,  crime? — Has  the  clue  afforded 
by  the  Hawk's  release  from  Sing  Sing  been  thor- 
oughly investigated?'  And  then  a  list  of  the  crimes 
committed  in  the  last  ten  days — two  murders,  one  in 
the  compartment  of  that  sleeping  car;  the  theft  of 
the  diamond  necklace;  the  express  robbery;  and  so 
on  through  the  list,  ending  up  with  last  night.  Then 


AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION  61 

a  nasty  shot  at  the  local  police;  and,  finally,  prefac- 
ing the  remark  with  the  statement  that  the  crimes 
were  all  connected  with  the  railroad,  a  thinly  veiled 
hint  that  I  am  either  a  boy  on  a  man's  job,  or  else 
asleep,  in  either  of  which  cases  I  ought  to  be — well, 
you  understand?"  MacVightie's  fist  came  down  with 
a  crash  on  the  operator's  table. 

Lanson,  with  a  worried  look,  nodded  his  head. 

"Damn  it!"  said  MacVightie.  "I "  He  stopped 

abruptly,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  operator's  sleeve. 
"Look  here,  Martin,"  he  said  evenly,  "you're  the 
one  man  that  Mr.  Lanson  has  picked  out  of  the  di- 
vision, you're  the  one  man  outside  of  Mr.  Lanson 
and  myself  who  has  any  inkling  that  these  secret 
messages  coming  over  our  wires  have  anything  to  do 
with  these  crimes — you  understand  that,  don't  you? 
This  is  pretty  serious  business.  The  newspaper 
didn't  exaggerate  any.  We're  up  against  a  gang  of 
crooks,  cleverly  organised,  who  will  stop  at  nothing. 
Murder  appears  to  be  a  pastime  with  them !  Do  you 
get  me — Martin?" 

For  a  long  second  the  two  men  looked  each  other 
steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  Martin  simply. 

"All  right!"  said  MacVightie.  "I  just  want  you 
to  realise  the  necessity  of  keeping  anything  you  may 
hear,  or  anything  that  may  happen  here  to-night, 
under  your  hat."  He  turned  to  Lanson  again,  the 
scowl  heavy  upon  his  face  once  more.  "I  was  go- 
ing to  say  that  I  know  who  the  man  is  that  slipped 
through  my  fingers  last  night." 


62  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"You — what!"  Lanson  leaned  sharply  forward 
in  his  chair.  "But  he  got  away  I  You  said  he " 

"It  was  the  Hawk" — MacVightie  bit  off  the 
words. 

"The  Hawk?" 

"The  Hawk!" 

"But  how  do  you  know?"  demanded  Lanson  in- 
credulously. "You  said  yourself  that  he  had  left 
no  clue  to  his  identity.  How  do  you  know?" 

MacVightie  reached  into  his  pocket,  took  out  his 
pocketbook,  and  from  the  pocketbook  passed  a  new, 
crisp  ten-dollar  banknote  to  Lanson. 

"What's  this?"  inquired  Lanson.  "The  counter- 
feit ten-dollar  bill  you  showed  me  last  night?" 

"No— another  one,"  MacVightie  answered  curt- 
ly. "Look  on  the  other  side." 

Lanson  turned  the  banknote  over,  stared  at  it, 
and  whistled  suddenly  under  his  breath. 

"  'With  the  compliments  of  the  Hawk!'  "  he  read 
aloud.  He  stared  now  at  MacVightie.  "Perhaps 
it's  a  fake,  inspired  by  that  newspaper  article  yester- 
day evening,"  he  suggested. 

"It's  no  fake,"  declared  MacVightie  grimly.  "The 
Hawk  wrote  that  there  all  right — it  was  inside  the 
pay  bag  in  which  the  ten  thousand  was  carried  away 
from  the  paymaster's  office  last  night." 

"You  mean — you  recovered  the  bag?"  cried  Lan- 
son eagerly.  "Where?  When?" 

The  Hawk,  watching  MadVightie's  face,  grinned 
wickedly.  MacVightie's  jaws  were  clamped  bellig- 


AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION  63 

crently,  and  upon  MacVightie's  cheeks  was  an  angry 
flush. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  'recovered'  it!"  MacVightie  snapped. 
"He's  got  his  nerve  with  him !  The  bag  was  found 
reposing  in  full  view  on  the  baggage  counter  at  Sel- 
kirk this  afternoon — addressed  to  me.  Nobody 
knows  how  it  got  there.  But" — MacVightie's  fist 
came  down  again  upon  the  operator's  table — "this 
time  he's  overplayed  his  hand.  We  knew  he  had  been 
released  from  Sing  Sing,  and  that  he  had  come  West, 
but  it  was  only  surmise  that  he  was  actually  around 
here — now  we  know.  In  the  second  place,  it's  pretty 
good  evidence  that  he's  in  with  the  gang  that's 
flooded  the  country  with  those  counterfeit  tens,  and 
you'll  remember  I  told  you  last  night  I  had  a  hunch 
it  was  the  same  gang  that  was  operating  out  here — 
well,  two  and  two  make  four!" 

"You  think  he's ?"  Lanson  swept  his  hand 

suggestively  toward  the  telegraph  instruments. 

"Yes — and  the  leader  of  'em,  now  he's  out  here 
on  the  ground !"  returned  MacVightie  gruffly. 

The  Hawk  had  taken  a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  and 
was  scribbling  aimlessly  at  the  top  of  the  page  in  his 
notebook. 

"Sure!"  confided  the  Hawk  to  himself.  "I 
thought  maybe  you'd  dope  it  out  like  that." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  in  the  office,  save 
for  the  intermittent  clicking  of  the  sounder,  to  which 
the  Hawk  now  gave  his  attention.  His  pencil  still 
made  aimless  markings  on  the  top  of  the  page — it 
was  only  routine  business  going  over  the  wire.  Then 


64  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Lanson  moved  uncomfortably  in  his  chair,  and  the 
chair  legs  squeaked  on  the  bare  floor. 

MacVightie  spoke  again: 

"Well,"  he  said  bluntly,  "you've  got  all  of  my 
end  of  it,  except  that  I've  placed  men  in  hiding  at 
every  station  on  the  line  where  there  are  no  night 
operators.  What  about  you?  Started  your  outside 
line  inspection?" 

"Yes,"  Lanson  answered.  "I've  had  three  men 
out  with  section  crews  working  from  different  points. 
But  it's  slow  business  making  an  inspection  that's 
careful  enough  to  be  of  any  use,  and  even  then  it's 
a  pretty  tall  order  to  call  the  turn  on  anything  when 
there's  already  so  many  legitimate  splices  and  repairs 
on  the  wires." 

"Well — any  results?"  asked  MacVightie. 

Lanson  shook  his  head. 

"We  found  what  we  thought  was  a  new  splice  in 
one  place,  but  it  turned  out  to  have  been  made  by  one 
of  our  own  men  two  weeks  ago,  only  lie  had  for- 
gotten to  report  it." 

MacVightie's  eyes  narrowed. 

"One  of  our  own  men — eh?"  he  repeated  curtly. 
"Who  was  it?" 

"Nothing  doing  there !"  Lanson  shook  his  head 
again,  emphatically  this  time.  "It  was  Calhoun." 

"Calhoun — eh?"  observed  MacVightie  softly. 

Lanson  bridled  slightly. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Calhoun?"  he  inquired 
testily.  "Got  anything  against  him?" 

"Never  heard  of  him  before,"  said  MacVightie, 


AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION  65 

with  a  short  laugh.  "But  I'll  take  pains  to  make  his 
acquaintance." 

"Then  you  might  as  well  spare  yourself  the 
trouble,"  advised  Lanson.  "I  can  tell  you  before- 
handfithat  he  carries  a  good  record  on  this  division, 
and  that  he's  one  of  the  best  linemen  we've  got." 

"I  daresay,"  admitted  MacVightie  coolly.  "But 
amongst  other  things  we're  looking  for  good  line- 
men to-night — who  forget  to  make  reports.  You 
needn't  get  touchy,  Lanson,  because  one  of  your 
men's  names  comes  up.  You  can  make  up  your 
mind  to  it  there's  an  inside  end  to  this,  and " 

The  tiny  ray  of  the  Hawk's  flashlight  shot  sud- 
denly upon  the  notebook's  open  page,  as  the  sounder 
broke  into  a  sharp  tattoo. 

"  'wtaz' — stroke  at  four,"  he  muttered,  as  he  be- 
gan to  write.  "Three — one — two.  They've 
changed  the  code  to-night — 'qxpetlk ' ' 

There  was  a  sharp  exclamation  from  the  other 
room. 

"Listen I    There  he  is  now!"    Martin  cried. 

Chairs  were  pushed  back — the  three  men  were  on 
their  feet. 

"What's  he  sending?"  questioned  MacVightie  in- 
stantly. 

The  Hawk  scowled  at  the  disturbance,  as,  over 
their  voices,  he  concentrated  his  attention  upon  the 
sounder.  He  wrote  steadily  on: 

".  .  .  huwkmuhhdtlqgvh.  .  .  ." 

"Same  as  usual,"  Martin  replied.  "Just  a  jumble 
of  letters." 


66  THE  WIRE 

"Well  then,  get  ready  to  throw  that  ground,  or 
whatever  you  call  it,  into  him!"  ordered  MacVightie 
tensely. 

"I'm  ready,"  said  Martin. 

"All  right  then — now!" 

The  Hawk  nodded  to  himself,  as  his  pencil  un- 
flaggingly  noted  down  letter  after  letter.  The 
sounder  was  very  perceptibly  stronger. 

"West  I"  Martin  cried  out.  "You  noticed  the 
difference  in  strength,  didn't  you?  He's  somewhere 
between  here  and  Selkirk.  That's " 

The  sounder  had  suddenly  ceased. 

"But  he's  stopped,"  said  MacVightie;  "and  you 
said  if  he  stopped " 

"That's  nothing  to  do  with  it!"  Martin  inter- 
posed hurriedly.  "The  wire  isn't  grounded  now." 

"He's  taken  to  cover,  I  guess,"  said  Lanson.  "I 

was  afraid  he  would  scare,  no  matter  how "  He 

Vroke  off  abruptly.  "Wait!  What's  that!" 

The  sounder  was  clicking  again;  but  the  sharp, 
quick  tattoo  was  gone,  and  in  its  place,  as  though  in- 
deed it  drawled,  the  sending  came  in  leisurely,  de- 
liberate fashion. 

The  Hawk's  pencil  resumed  its  labours — and  then, 
with  a  queer  smile,  the  Hawk  scratched  out  what  he 
had  just  written.  It  was  no  longer  code — it  was  in 
exceedingly  plain  English. 

Martin  was  reading  directly  from  the  sounder: 

"  'Try — that — game — just — once  —  more — 
and — the — division —  goes  — up — in — the — air 


AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION  67 

»— and — a — train — or — two — maybe — to — a — 
place — that  —  Mister  —  MacVightie  —  will — 
some — day — honour  —  with — his  —  presence. 
That's — quite — plain — isn't — it?  If — you — 
think  —  this  —  is  —  a — bluff — call — it.  Now 
— keep — off — the — wire — or — have — it  —  cut. 
Suit — yourselves.' ' 

"Well,  of  all  the  infernal  nerve  I"  exploded  Mac- 
Vightie furiously. 

"And  the  worst  of  it,"  said  Lanson  shortly,  "is 
that  he's  got  us  where  he  wants  us !" 

Once  more  the  sounder  broke  into  the  old  quick 
tattoo.  The  Hawk  was  writing  steadily  again. 
There  was  silence  now  between  the  three  in  the  of- 
fice. 

A  minute,  two,  three  went  by — the  sounder 
ceased — the  Hawk  closed  his  notebook.  Then  in  its 
leisurely  drawl  the  sounder  broke  again;  and  again 
Martin  read  aloud: 

"  'Pleasant  —  evening  —  isn't — it?  Ask — 
MacVightie  —  if  —  he — has — seen — anything 
— of — the — Hawk.  Good-night.' ' 

But  this  time  there  was  only  a  menacing  smile 
on  MacVightie's  lips. 

"He's  west  of  here,  you  say?"  he  shot  at  Martin. 
"Yes,"  said  Martin  briefly. 
"And  that  splice  of  Calhoun's,  Lanson?    Where 
that?" 


68  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Lanson,  drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  edge  of 
the  operator's  table,  looked  up  with  a  frown. 

"Nothing  but  coincidence,"  he  said  tersely.  "Yes, 
it  was  west  of  here — pretty  near  Selkirk."  He 
moved  toward  the  door.  "There's  nothing  more  we 
can  do  here  to-night.  I'm  going  back  on  No.  17. 
Let's  get  out  on  the  platform  until  she  shows  up." 

The  Hawk  very  carefully  replaced  his  notebook, 
his  flashlight  and  his  pencil  in  his  pockets,  and,  as 
MacVightie  and  the  superintendent  went  out  of  the 
door,  he  retreated  softly  back  to  the  rear  window. 
The  window  being  up,  he  quite  as  noiselessly  slipped 
out  over  the  sill.  He  debated  a  moment  about  the 
window,  and  decided  that  if  any  significance  were 
attached  to  the  fact  that  it  was  found  open,  Mac- 
Vightie, for  instance,  was  fully  entitled  to  make  the 
most  of  the  significance!  Then,  the  rattle  of  a 
wagon  sounding  from  the  direction  of  the  road,  the 
Hawk  moved  along  to  the  end  of  the  station,  and 
waited. 

The  wagon,  in  the  light  of  its  own  smoky  oil 
lamps,  proved  to  be  the  town  hotel  bus.  There  were 
evidently  other  passengers  for  Selkirk  besides  him- 
self and  the  two  officials,  as  several  people  alighted 
from  the  bus.  In  view  of  this  fact  the  Hawk  calmly 
lighted  a  cigarette,  though  the  glow  of  the  match 
exposed  his  face  only  to  the  blank  wall  of  the  sta- 
tion, and  walked  around  to  the  front  platform. 

He  located  MacVightie  and  Lanson;  and,  there- 
after, at  a  safe  distance,  did  not  lose  sight  of  them. 
MacVightie's  memory  for  faces  would  hardly  be 


AT  BAUD  CREEK  STATION  69 

over-rated  if  credited  with  being  able  to  bridge  a 
matter  of  some  twenty-four  hours,  particularly  as 
MacVightie  had  evidenced  unusual  interest  in  the 
occupant  of  the  room  on  the  first  landing  over  a  cer- 
tain ill-favoured  saloon  the  night  before !  The 
Hawk,  therefore,  was  unostentatiously  attentive  to 
MacVightie' s  movements;  so  much  so  that,  when  No. 
17  pulled  in  and  MacVightie  and  Lanson  boarded 
the  chair  car  at  the  rear  of  the  train,  the  Hawk, 
when  No.  17  pulled  out,  quite  logically  boarded  the 
smoking  car  at  the  forward  end. 

The  Hawk  chose  the  most  uncomfortable  seat  in 
the  car — the  rear  seat  with  stiff,  upright,  unyielding 
back,  that  was  built  against  the  wash-room — and, 
settling  himself  down,  produced  his  notebook  and 
pencil.  The  water-cooler  could  be  quite  confidenti- 
ally trusted  not  to  peer  over  his  shoulder ! 

On  the  second  page  of  the  notebook — the  first 
having  been  devoted  to  the  sketch  of  Bald  Creek 
Station — the  Hawk,  as  he  had  taken  it  from  the 
sounder,  had  written  this: 

"wtazqxpetlkhuwkmuhhdtlqgvhmmpyhqltvddf 
rmnluvponfkhomovfdhgvkerkmmawrqfljkwte 
dvsoedtdqqhmgfdoifkrxqkuvwruhgsruwmtdoo 
ommtlqhvksolfoghvklstrvrzqmqxpemkhurqjkh 
hvdbfvkdzcmnvohrtpqghutzklwkjhkdqmmogv 
pdlqlfxequhgpifthglxgpkhlmfjkwhttwbhvdpqg 
kdrllueomosdfnhtashqkjvlyhtgmwdlomruhgegf 
orwmpqkhvwtzrwkmmrxvddgiqggrqoodusnvrx 
wmfkriuhkvhuymthixqljtgwrqpxpehhouwkdmd 
gwsxwsvdexmuoonwtjqlqklmp" 


70  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  Hawk  tore  out  a  page  from  the  back  of  the 
notebook,  and  set  down  the  letters  of  the  alphabet 
in  a  column.  Opposite  these  he  painstakingly  set 
down  another  column  of  letters.  After  that  the 
Hawk  worked  slowly.  It  was  not  quite  so  simple  as 
it  looked — not  merely  the  substitution  of  letters  in 
a  different  order  of  rotation.  Nor,  apparently,  from 
the  Hawk's  observations  as  he  muttered  to  himself, 
were  all  messages  to  be  deciphered  alike — the  code 
appeared  to  possess  within  itself  an  elasticity  for 
variation. 

"At  four  .  .  .  key  letter  changed  .  .  .  stroke  I"  mut- 
tered the  Hawk.  "N-u-m-b  .  .  .  pass  three  .  .  . 
c-r-t-h  .  .  .  stroke  one.  .  .  ." 

The  Hawk's  notebook,  closed,  was  reposing  idly 
on  the  window  ledge  and  the  Hawk  was  lighting  an- 
other cigarette,  as  the  conductor  came  down  the 
aisle.  The  Hawk  presented  the  return  stub  of  a 
ticket  to  Selkirk.  The  conductor  punched  it,  and 
passed  on — and  the  Hawk  picked  up  his  notebook 
again. 

Again  he  was  interrupted — and  again.  The  wa- 
ter-cooler, after  all,  was  not  proving  an  unmixed 
blessing.  It  seemed  as  though  every  man  in  the 
car  were  possessed  of  an  inordinate  thirst.  They 
were  well  on  toward  Selkirk  when  the  Hawk  finally 
completed  the  deciphering  of  the  message. 

It  now  ran: 


AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION  71 


He  arranged  the  scattered  letters  into  words, 
and  the  words  into  sentences: 

"Number  Three  and  Seven  Isaac  Kir- 
schell(')s  cash  box  to-night  as  planned.  Cal- 
houn  to  report  all  line  splices  his  own.  Num- 
ber One  says  Hawk  slender  white  hands,  mani- 
cured, medium  height,  eyes  and  hair  black,  ex- 
pensive tailored  clothes.  Two  thousand  dol- 
lars out  of  reserve  fund  to  Number  that  puts 
a  bullet  in  him." 

The  Hawk  inspected  his  hands,  and  smiled 
whimsically.  Number  One  was  the  Butcher.  He  had 
not  given  the  Butcher  credit  for  being  so  observant  I 
Presently  he  stared  out  of  the  window. 

"Wonder  how  much  of  a  haul  I  can  make  to- 
night?" he  murmured.  "Regular  El  Dorado  —  hav- 
ing 'em  work  it  all  up  and  handing  it  to  you  on  a  gold 
platter.  Pretty  soft!  Hope  they  won't  get  dis- 
couraged and  quit  picking  the  chestnuts  out  of  the 
fire  for  me  —  while  there's  any  chestnuts  left!" 

And  then  the  Hawk  frowned  suddenly.  The  chest- 
nuts appeared  to  be  only  partially  picked  for  him 


*IZ  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

to-night.  What  was  the  game — as  planned?  There 
must  have  been  a  previous  message  that  had  got  by 
him.  His  frown  deepened.  There  was  no  way  of 
remedying  that.  To  hope  to  intercept  them  all  was 
to  expect  too  much.  There  was  no  way  whereby  he 
could  spend  twenty-four  hours  out  of  twenty-four  in 
touch  with  a  sounder.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
philosophically  after  a  moment.  Perhaps  it  was 
just  as  well.  They  credited  him  with  playing  a  lone 
hand,  believing  that  his  and  their  depredations  were 
clashing  with  one  another  simply  by  virtue  of  the 
fact  that  their  mutual  pursuits  were  of  a  competitive 
criminal  nature,  that  was  all.  If  it  happened  with 
too  much  regularity,  they  might  begin  to  suspect  that 
he  had  the  key  to  their  cipher,  and  then — the  Hawk 
did  not  care  to  contemplate  that  eventuality.  There 
would  be  no  more  chestnuts ! 

The  Hawk  read  the  first  part  of  the  message  over 
again.  Who  was  Isaac  Kirschell?  The  name  seemed 
to  be  familiar.  The  Hawk  studied  the  toe  of  a  neat- 
ly-fitting and  carefully  polished  shoe  thoughtfully. 
When  he  looked  up  again,  he  nodded.  He  remem- 
bered now.  He  had  lunched  the  day  before  in  a 
restaurant  that  occupied  a  portion  of  the  ground 
floor  of  an  office  building,  the  corridor  of  which  ran 
through  from  street  to  street.  In  going  out,  he  had 
passed  along  the  corridor  and  had  seen  the  name  on 
the  door  panels  of  two  of  the  offices. 

He  resumed  the  study  of  his  boot  toe.  It  was  not 
a  very  vital  matter.  A  moment  spent  in  consulting 
the  city  directory  would  have  supplied  the  informa* 


AT  BALD  CREEK  STATION  73 

tion  in  any  case.  He  nodded  again.  MacVightie 
was  unquestionably  right.  Some  one  on  the  inside, 
some  railroader,  and  probably  more  than  one,  was 
in  on  the  game  with  the  Wire  Devils — and  it  was 
perhaps  as  well  for  this  Calhoun  that  MacVightie, 
already  suspicious,  was  not  likewise  possessed  of  the 
key  to  the  cipher!  Also,  Lanson  had  been  right. 
It  was  no  easy  task  to  locate  a  new  splice  on  a 
wire  that  was  already  scarred  with  countless  repairs. 
Still,  if  Lanson's  men  went  at  it  systematically  and 
narrowed  down  the  radius  of  operations,  it  was  not 
impossible  that  they  might  stumble  upon  a  clue — if 
Calhoun  did  not  placidly  inform  them  that  it  was 
but  another  of  his  own  making!  But  even  then, 
granted  that  the  wire  was  found  to  have  been 
tapped  in  a  certain  place  one  night,  that  was  no  rea-> 
son  why  it  should  not,  as  Mr.  MacVightie  had  al- 
ready suggested,  be  tapped  fifty  miles  away  the  next  I 
The  Hawk  grinned.  Mr.  Lanson  and  his  associates, 
backed  even  by  Mr.  MacVightie,  were  confronted 
with  a  problem  of  considerable  difficulty! 

"I  wonder,"  communed  the  Hawk  with  himself, 
"who's  the  spider  that  spun  the  web;  and  I  wonder 
how  many  little  spiders  he's  got  running  around  on 
it?" 

He  perused  the  message  once  more;  but  this  time 
he  appeared  to  be  concerned  mainly  with  the  latter 
portion.  He  read  it  over  several  times:  "Two 
thousand  dollars  to  the  Number  that  puts  a  bullet  in 
him." 

"Npbody  seems  to  like  me,"  complained  the  Hawk 


74>  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

softly.  "MacVightie  doesn't;  and  the  Butcher's 
crowd  seem  peeved.  Two  thousand  dollars  for  my 
hide !  I  guess  if  I  stick  around  here  long  enough 
maybe  it'll  get  exciting — for  somebody!" 

The  Hawk  tore  up  the  message,  the  sheet  on 
which  he  had  deciphered  it,  the  sketch  of  Bald  Creek 
station,  tore  all  three  into  small  fragments,  opened 
the  window  a  little,  and  let  the  pieces  flutter  out  into 
the  night.  He  closed  the  window,  returned  the  note- 
book, innocent  of  everything  now  but  its  blank  pages, 
to  his  pocket — and,  pulling  his  slouch  hat  down  over 
his  eyes,  appeared  to  doze. 


IN  WHICH  A  CASH  BOX  DISAPPEARS 


1 


"^WENTY  minutes  later,  as  No.  17  pulled 
into  Selkirk,  the  Hawk,  his  erstwhile 
drowsiness  little  in  evidence,  dropped  to 
the  platform  while  the  train  was  still  in 
motion,  and  before  MacVightie  and  Lanson  in  the 
rear  car,  it  might  be  fairly  assumed,  had  thought  of 
leaving  their  seats.  The  Hawk  was  interested  in 
MacVightie  for  the  balance  of  the  night  only  to  the 
extent  of  keeping  out  of  MacVightie's  sight — his  at- 
tention was  centered  now  on  the  office  of  one  Isaac 
Kirschell,  and  the  possibilities  that  lay  in  the  said 
Isaac  Kirschell's  cash  box. 

He  glanced  at  the  illuminated  dial  of  the  tower 
clock.  It  was  eighteen  minutes  after  ten. 

"That's  the  worst  of  getting  the  dope  a  long  way 
down  the  line,"  he  muttered,  as  he  hurried  through 
the  station  and  out  to  the  street.  "But  I  had  to  get 
a  look  at  MacVightie's  cards  to-night."  He  struck 
off  toward  the  downtown  business  section  of  the  city 
at  a  brisk  pace.  "It  ought  to  be  all  right  though  to- 
night— more  than  enough  time  to  get  in  ahead  of 
them — they're  not  likely  to  pull  any  break  in  that 
locality  until  well  after  midnight.  Wonder  what 

75 


V 


76  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Kirschell's  got  in  his  cash  box  that's  so  valuable?  I 
suppose  they  know,  or  they  wouldn't  be  after  it! 
They  don't  hunt  small  game,  but" — the  Hawk  sighed 
lugubriously — "there's  no  chance  of  any  such  luck 
as  last  night  again.  Ten  thousand  dollars  in  cash! 
Some  haul!  Yes,  I  guess  maybe  they're  peeved!" 

The  Hawk,  arrived  at  his  destination,  surveyed 
the  office  building  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street.  The  restaurant  on  the  ground  floor  was 
dark,  but  a  lighted  window  here  and  there  on  the 
floors  above  indicated  that  some  of  the  tenants  were 
working  late.  It  was  therefore  fairly  safe  to  pre- 
sume that  the  entrance  door,  though  closed,  was 
unlocked.  The  Hawk  crossed  the  street  unconcerned- 
ly, and  tried  the  door.  It  opened  under  his  hand — • 
but  noiselessly,  and  to  the  extent  only  of  a  bare  inch, 
in  view  of  the  possibility  of  a  janitor  being  some- 
where about.  Detecting  no  sound  from  within,  how- 
ever, the  Hawk  pushed  the  door  a  little  further  open, 
and  was  confronted  with  a  dimly  lighted  vestibule, 
and  a  long,  still  more  dimly  lighted  corridor  beyond. 
There  was  no  one  in  sight.  He  slipped  inside — and, 
quick  and  silent  now  in  his  movements,  darted  across 
the  vestibule  and  into  the  corridor. 

Halfway  along  the  corridor,  he  halted  before  a 
door,  on  whose  glass  panel  he  could  just  make  out 
the  words  "Isaac  Kirschell,"  and,  beneath  the  name, 
in  smaller  letters,  the  intimation  that  the  entrance 
was  next  door.  The  Hawk's  decision  was  taken  in 
the  time  it  required  to  produce  from  his  pocket  a 
key-ring  equipped  with  an  extensive  assortment  of 


IN  WHICH  A  CASH  BOX  DISAPPEARS     77 

skeleton  keys.  If  by  any  chance  he  should  be  dis- 
turbed and  had  entered  by  the  designated  office  door, 
his  escape  would  be  cut  off;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
entered  by  this  unused  door,  and  left  it  unlocked  be- 
hind him,  he  would  still  be  quite  comfortably  the 
master  of  the  situation  in  almost  any  emergency. 

The  door  seemed  to  offer  unusual  difficulties.  Even 
when  unlocked,  it  stuck.  The  Hawk  worked  at  it  by 
the  sense  of  touch  alone,  his  eyes  busy  with  sharp 
glances  up  and  down  the  corridor.  Finally,  succeed- 
ing in  opening  it  a  little  way,  it  was  only  to  find  it 
blocked  by  some  obstruction  within.  He  scowled. 
A  desk,  probably,  close  against  it!  The  door  was 
certainly  never  used.  He  would  have  to  enter  by 
the  other  one,  after  all,  and — no!  He  had  reached 
his  arm  inside.  It  was  only  a  coat-stand,  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort.  He  lifted  it  aside,  stepped  in,  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  Hawk's  flashlight — not  the  diminutive  little 
affair  that  had  served  him  for  his  notebook — began 
to  circle  his  surroundings  inquisitively.  He  was  in 
a  small,  plainly  furnished  private  office.  There  was 
a  desk,  two  chairs,  and  a  filing  cabinet.  Also  there 
were  two  doors.  The  Hawk  opened  the  one  at  his 
left,  and  peered  out.  It  gave  on  what  was  pre- 
sumably the  general  office;  and  at  the  upper  end 
was  a  partition  with  the  name,  "Mr.  Kirschell,"  upon 
the  door.  He  looked  at  the  panel  of  the  door  he 
had  just  opened.  It  bore  no  name. 

"This  belongs  to  Kirschell's  secretary  probably," 
he  decided.  "The  other  door  from  here  opens,  of 


78  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

course,  into  Kirschell's  private  office.    Wonder  what 
Mr.  Isaac  Kirschell's  business  is?" 

He  closed  the  door  leading  into  the  outer  office, 
and  moved  across  the  room  to  the  second  door  that 
already  stood  wide  open,  and  almost  directly  faced 
what  he  had  taken  for  granted  was  the  secretary's 
desk.  He  stepped  over  the  threshold.  Mr.  Kir- 
schell's  sanctum  was  somewhat  more  elaborately  fur- 
nished. Apart  from  a  rather  expensive  flat-topped 
desk  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  there  was  a  massive 
safe,  new  and  of  modern  design,  a  heavy  rug  upon 
the  floor,  and  several  very  comfortable  leather-up^- 
holstered  chairs.  A  washstand,  the  metal  taps  highly 
polished,  and  a  mahogany  towel  rack  occupied  the 
far  corner.  The  Hawk  inspected  the  safe  with  the 
eye  of  a  connoisseur,  scowled  unhappily  by  way  of 
expressing  his  opinion  of  it,  and  turned  to  the  desk. 
He  opened  a  drawer,  and  picked  up  a  sheet  of  busi- 
ness stationery.  The  letterhead  read: 

ISAAC  KIRSCHELL 

LOANS,  MORTGAGES  &  GENERAL  EXCHANGE 

"Ho,  ho !"  observed  the  Hawk.  "Sort  of  a  glori- 
fied pawnbroker,  eh?  I " 

The  sheet  of  paper  was  shot  back  into  the  drawer, 
the  flashlight  was  out — and  on  the  instant  the  Hawk 
was  back  in  the  other  office,  and  crouched  on  the  floor 
behind  the  desk.  Some  one  had  halted  outside  in 
the  corridor  before  the  main  office  door,  and  now 
a  key  was  turned  in  the  lock.  The  door  was  opened 


IN  WHICH  A  CASH  BOX  DISAPPEARS    79 

and  closed,  footsteps  crossed  the  general  office, 
paused  for  a  moment  outside  Mr.  Kirschell's  door, 
then  the  lights  in  Mr.  Kirschell's  room  went  on,  a 
man  entered,  tossed  his  hat  on  a  chair,  and  sat  down 
at  the  desk.  It  was  obviously  Mr.  Kirschell  him'- 
self. 

Through  the  wide  opening  between  the  ends  of  the 
desk  that  sheltered  him,  the  Hawk,  flat  on  the  floor, 
took  stock  of  the  other.  The  man  was  rather  small 
in  stature,  with  a  thin,  palish  face,  sharp,  restless, 
very  small  black  eyes,  and  he  was  extremely  well 
dressed — the  Hawk  noted  the  dainty  little  bouton- 
niere  in  the  lapel  of  the  man's  coat,  and  smiled 
queerly.  From  Mr.  Kirschell's  face  he  glanced  at 
the  face  of  Mr.  Kirschell's  safe,  then  back  at  Mr. 
Kirschell  again — and  fingered  his  automatic  in  the 
pocket  of  his  coat. 

The  Hawk,  however,  made  no  further  move- 
ment— Mr.  Kirschell's  actions  suggested  that  it 
would  be  unwise.  The  man,  though  apparently  oc- 
cupied with  some  mail  which  he  had  taken  from  his 
pocket,  kept  glancing  impatiently  at  his  watch.  It 
was  quite  evident  that  he  was  expecting  some  one 
every  moment.  The  Hawk  frowned  perplexedly. 
The  message  that  night,  even  when  deciphered,  left 
much,  too  much,  to  the  imagination!  It  was  quite 
possible  that  Mr.  Kirschell  was  to  be  relieved  of  his 
cash  box  with  more  address  and  finesse  than  by  the 
bald  expedient  of  ruining  Mr.  Kirschell's  safe !  This 
appointment,  for  instance,  might — and  then  the 
Hawk  smiled  queerly  again. 


80  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  corridor  door  had  opened  and  closed  for  the 
second  time.  A  heavy  step  traversed  the  outer  office, 
and  a  man,  hat  in  hand,  in  cheap  store  clothes,  stood 
before  Mr.  Krischell's  desk. 

"Mentioned  in  dispatches!"  said  the  Hawk  very 
softly  to  himself.  "I  guess  that's  Calhoun.  So  that's 
the  game — eh?" 

"You're  late,  Mr.  Calhoun!"  Kirschell  greeted 
the  other  sharply.  "Five  minutes  late!  I  have  put 
myself  to  considerable  inconvenience  to  give  you  this 
appointment." 

Calhoun's  hair  was  tossed,  there  was  a  smudge 
across  his  cheek,  and  his  hands  were  grimy,  as  though 
he  had  just  come  from  work.  He  was  a  big  man, 
powerfully  shouldered.  His  grey  eyes  were  not 
friendly  as  they  met  Kirschell's. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  he  said  shortly.  "I've  been 
up  the  line  all  day.  I  told  you  I  couldn't  get  here 
until  about  this  time." 

"Well,  all  right,  all  right!"  said  Kirschell  impa- 
tiently. "But,  now  that  you  are  here,  are  you  pre- 
pared to  settle?" 

"I  can  give  you  a  small  payment  on  account,  that's 
the  best  I  can  do,"  Calhoun  answered. 

Kirschell  tilted  back  in  his  swivel  chair,  and 
frowned  as  he  tapped  the  edge  of  his  desk  with  a 
paper  cutter. 

"How  much?"  he  demanded  coldly. 

"Forty  dollars" — Calhoun's  hand  went  tentative- 
ly toward  his  pocket. 

"Forty  dollars!"     There   was  derision   in  Kir- 


IN  WHICH  A  CASH  BOX  DISAPPEARS     81 

schell's  voice,  an  uninviting  smile  on  Kirschell's  lips. 
"That's  hardly  more  than  the  interest!" 

"Yes,"  said  Calhoun,  snarling  suddenly,  "at  the 
thieving  rates  you,  and  the  bloodsuckers  like  you, 
charge." 

Kirschell's  uninviting  smile  deepened. 

"Considering  the  security,  the  rate  is  very  mod- 
erate," he  said  evenly.  "Now,  see  here,  Calhoun,  I 
told  you  plainly  enough  this  thing  had  to  be  settled 
to-day.  You  don't  want  to  run  away  with  the  im- 
pression that  I'm  a  second  Marakof,  to  be  staved 
off  all  the  time.  I  bought  your  note  from  the  pawn- 
broker's estate  because  the  executors  didn't  like  the 
look  of  it,  and  weren't  any  too  sure  they  could  col- 
lect it.  Well,  I  can!  I'm  new  out  here,  but  I'm 
not  new  at  my  business.  Excuses  with  me  don't  take 
the  place  of  cash.  I  hold  your  note  for  five  hundred 
dollars,  which  is  past  due,  to  say  nothing  of  six 
months'  interest  besides — and  you  come  here  to-night 
and  offer  me  forty  dollars!" 

"I  would  have  paid  Marakof,"  said  Calhoun,  in  a 
low  voice;  "and  I'll  pay  you  as  fast  as  I  can.  You 
know  what  I'm  up  against — I  told  you  when  you 
first  got  after  me,  as  soon  as  you  got  that  note. 
My  brother  got  into  trouble  back  East.  What  would 
you  have  done?  That  five  hundred  kept  him  out  of 
the  'pen.'  He's  only  a  kid.  Damn  it,  don't  play 
the  shark!  Marakof  renewed  the  note — why  can't 
you?" 

"Because  I  don't  do  business  that  way,"  said  Kir- 
schell  curtly. 


B2  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Calhoun's  voice  grew  hard. 

"How  much  did  you  pay  for  that  note,  anyway?" 

Kirschell  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  didn't  say  I  wasn't  taking  any  risk  with  you," 
he  replied  tersely.  "That's  the  profit  on  my  risk. 
And  as  far  as  you  are  concerned — it's  none  of  your 
business  1" 

Calhoun  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  turn,  and,  tak- 
ing a  small  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket,  smoothed 
them  out  between  his  fingers. 

'  "I  got  a  wife,  and  I  got  kids,"  said  Calhoun  slow- 
ly. "And  I'm  doing  the  best  I  can.  Do  you  want 
this  forty,  or  not?" 

"It  depends,"  said  Kirschell,  tapping  again  with 
his  paper  cutter.  "How  about  the  rest?" 

"I'll  pay  you  what  I  can  every  month,"  Calhoun 
answered. 

"How  much?"— bluntly. 

"What  I  can!"  returned  Calhoun  defiantly. 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  for  a  moment — and 
then  Kirschell  tossed  the  paper  cutter  down  on  the 
desk. 

"Well,  all  right!"  he  decided  ungraciously.  "I'll 
take  a  chance  for  a  month — and  see  how  you  live  up 
to  it.  Hand  it  over,  and  I'll  give  you  a  receipt." 

Calhoun  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  trust  the  man  who  don't  trust  me,"  he 
said  gruffly.  "I  don't  want  that  kind  of  a  receipt. 
[You'll  indorse  the  payment  on  the  back  of  the  note, 
Mr.  Kirschell,  if  you  want  this  forty." 

"What?"  inquired  Kirschell,  staring. 


IN  WHICH  A  CASH  BOX  DISAPPEARS     83 

"You  heard  what  I  said,"  said  Calhoun  coolly. 
"I'm  in  the  hands  of  a  shark,  and  I  know  it.  That's 
plain  talk,  isn't  it?" 

"But,"  Kirschell  flared  up  angrily,  "I " 

Calhoun  calmly  returned  the  money  to  his  pocket. 

"Suit  yourself!"  he  suggested  indifferently.  "I 
ain't  asking  for  anything  more  than  I  have  a  right 
to." 

"Very  well,  my  man!"  said  Kirschell  icily.  "If 
our  dealings  are  to  be  on  this  basis,  I  hope  you  will 
remember  that  the  basis  is  of  your  own  choosing." 
He  swung  around  in  his  chair,  and,  rising,  walked 
over  to  the  safe. 

And  then,  for  the  first  time,  the  Hawk  moved. 
He  edged  silently  back  along  the  floor  until  far 
enough  away  from  the  doorway  to  be  fully  protected 
by  the  darkness  of  the  room,  and  stood  up.  Kir- 
schell was  swinging  the  heavy  door  of  the  safe  open. 
The  cash  box  was  to  be  produced!  Lying  down, 
the  Hawk  could  not  hope  to  see  its  contents  if  it 
were  opened  on  the  desk;  standing  up,  he  might  be 
able  to  form  a  very  good  idea  of  how  tempting  its 
contents  would  prove  to  be. 

Kirschell  took  a  black-enamelled  steel  box  from 
the  safe,  and  returned  to  the  desk.  He  opened  this 
with  a  key,  threw  back  the  cover — and  the  Hawk 
stuck  his  tongue  in  his  cheek.  A  few  papers  lay  on 
the  top — otherwise  it  was  crammed  to  overflowing 
with  banknotes.  Kirschell  selected  one  of  the  pa-? 
pers,  and  picked  up  a  pen  in  frigid  silence. 

But    the    Hawk   was    no    longer    watching   the; 


64  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

scene.  His  head  was  cocked  to  one  side,  in  a  curious, 
bird-like,  listening  attitude.  He  could  have  sworn 
he  had  heard  the  outer  office  door  being  stealthily 
opened.  And  now  Calhoun  was  speaking — rapidly, 
his  voice  raised  noticeably  in  a  louder  tone  than  any 
he  had  previously  employed. 

"I  ain't  looking  for  trouble,  Mr.  Kirschell,"  he 
stated  hurriedly,  as  though  relenting,  "and  I  don't 
want  you  to  think  I  am,  but " 

There  was  a  sharp  cry  from  Kirschell.  The  room 
was  in  darkness.  Came  a  quick  step  running  in  from 
the  outer  office,  no  longer  stealthy  now — the  crash 
of  a  toppling  chair — a  gasping  moan  in  Kirschell's 
voice — the  thud  of  a  falling  body — a  tense  whisper: 
"All  right,  I've  got  it!" — then  the  steps  running 
back  across  the  outer  office — the  closing  of  the  cor- 
ridor door — and  silence. 

The  Hawk,  grim-lipped,  had  backed  up  against  the 
wall  of  the  room. 

Calhoun's  voice  rose  hoarsely: 

"Good  God,  what's  happened  1  Where's  the  elec- 
tric-light switch?" 

Kirschell  answered  him  faintly: 

"At — at  the  side  of  the  door — just — outside  the 
partition." 

The  lights  went  on  again,  and  the  Hawk  leaned 
intently  forward.  Calhoun  was  standing  now  in  the 
doorway  between  the  outer  and  the  private  office,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  Kirschell.  The  swivel  chair  had  been 
overturned;  and  Kirschell,  a  great  crimson  stream 
running  down  his  cheek  from  above  his  temple,  was 


IN  WHICH  A  CASH  BOX  DISAPPEARS     85 

struggling  to  his  knees,  clutching  at  the  edge  of  the 
desk  for  support.  The  cash  box  was  gone. 

Kirschell's  eyes  swept  the  top  of  the  desk  haggard- 
ly, as  though  hoping  against  hope.  He  gained  his 
feet,  lurching  unsteadily.  A  crimson  drop  splashed 
to  the  desk. 

"My  chair!"  he  cried  out  weakly.     "Help  me!" 

Calhoun  stepped  forward  mechanically,  and  picked 
up  the  chair.  Kirschell  dropped  into  it. 

"You're  hurt!"  Calhoun  said  huskily.  "You're 
badly  hurt!" 

"Yes,"  Kirschell  answered;  "but  it — can  wait. 
The  police  first — there  was — three  thousand  dol- 
lars— in  my  cash  box."  With  an  effort  he  reached 
out  across  the  desk  for  the  telephone,  pulled  it 
toward  him — and,  on  the  point  of  lifting  the  receiver 
from  the  hook,  slowly  drew  back  his  hand.  A 
strange  look  settled  on  his  face,  a  sort  of  dawning, 
though  puzzled  comprehension;  and  then,  swaying 
in  his  chair,  his  lips  thinned.  He  drew  his  hand  still 
further  back  until  it  hovered  over  the  handle  of  the 
desk's  middle  drawer.  His  eyes,  on  Calhoun,  were 
narrowing. 

"You  devil!"  he  rasped  out  suddenly.  "This  is 
your  work!  I  was  a  fool  that  I  did  not  see  It  at 
first!" 

Calhoun's  face  went  white. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said  thickly. 

"What  I  say!"  Kirschell's  voice  was  ominously 
clear  now,  though  he  sat  none  too  steadily  in  his 
chair. 


86  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"Then  you  lie!"  said  Calhoun  fiercely.  "You  lie 
—and  if  you  weren't  hurt,  I'd " 

"No,  you  wouldn't!" — Kirschell  had  whipped  the 
drawer  open,  and,  snatching  out  a  revolver,  was 
covering  Calhoun.  He  laughed  a  little — bitterly. 
"I'm  not  so  bad  that  I  can't  take  care  of  myself. 
It  was  pretty  clever,  I'll  give  you  credit  for  that. 
You  almost  fooled  me." 

"Damn  you!"  snarled  Calhoun.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  I've  got  your  cash  box?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Kirschell.  "I  can  see  you  haven't. 
I  don't  even  know  which  of  you  two  struck  me.  But 
I  do  know  that  you  and  the  man  who  has  my  cash 
box  worked  up  this  plant  together." 

Calhoun  stepped  forward  threateningly — only  to 
retreat  again  before  the  lifted  muzzle  of  the  re- 
volver. 

"You're  a  fool!"  he  snarled.  "You've  nothing 
on  me!" 

"That's  for  the  police  to  decide,"  returned  Kir- 
schell evenly.  "It  would  have  been  a  pleasant  way 
of  disposing  of  that  note,  wouldn't  it — if  you  hadn't 
under-rated  me !  And  your  pal  for  his  share,  I  dare- 
say, was  to  take  his  chance  on  whatever  there  might 
be  in  the  cash  box !  Why  did  you  say  you  couldn't 
come  until  night,  when  I  gave  you  until  to-day  as  the 
last  day  in  which  to  settle?  Why  did  you  insist  on 
my  indorsing  the  payment  on  the  note,  which  neces- 
sitated my  opening  the  safe  and  taking  out  the  cash 
box  in  which  you  knew  the  note  was  kept,  for  you  saw 
me  put  it  there  a  week  ago,  when  you  first  came 


IN  WHICH  A  CASH  BOX  DISAPPEARS     87 

here?  And  just  after  I  was  knocked  down  I  heard 
your  accomplice  whisper:  'All  right,  I've  got  it.' 
It's  possible  the  police  might  form  the  same  opinion 
I  have  as  to  whom  those  words  were  addressed  1" 

Calhoun's  face  had  grown  whiter. 

"It's  a  lie!"  he  said  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 
"It's  a  lie !  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it !" 

"I  want  my  three  thousand  dollars!"  Kirschell's 
lips  were  set.  He  held  a  red-stained  handkerchief 
to  his  cheek.  "If  I  call  the  police  now  they'll  get 
you — but  it's  your  accomplice  that's  got  my  money. 
And  it's  my  money  that  I  want !  I'll  give  you  half 
an  hour  to  go  to  him,  and  bring  the  money  back  here 
— and  leave  the  police  out  of  it.  If  you're  not  here 
in  that  time,  I  put  it  up  to  the  police.  Half  an  hour 
is  time  enough  for  you  to  find  your  pal;  and  it's  not 
time  enough  for  you  to  attempt  to  leave  the  city — 
and  get  very  far!"  Kirschell  laid  his  watch  on  the 
desk.  "You'd  better  go — I  mean  half  an  hour  from 


now." 


Calhoun  hung  hesitant  for  a  moment,  staring  at 
the  muzzle  of  Kirschell's  revolver.  He  made  as 
though  to  say  something — and  instead,  abruptly, 
with  a  short,  jarring  laugh,  turned  on  his  heel,  anH 
passed  out  of  the  room. 

The  Hawk  was  already  edging  his  way  along  the 
wall  toward  the  corridor  door. 

"Three  thousand  dollars!" — the  Hawk  rolled  the 
words  like  so  many  dainty  morsels  on  his  tongue,  as 
he  communed  with  himself.  "I  guess  it's  my  play  ta 
stick  to  Mr.  Calhoun  I" 


I 


—  VI  — 

SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS 

Hawk  reached  the  door,  as  Calhoun 
stepped  into  the  corridor  from  the  general 
office  and  passed  by  outside,  evidently 
making  for  the  main  entrance  of  the 
building.  He  opened  the  door  cautiously  the  width 
of  a  crack — and  held  it  in  that  position.  A  man's 
voice,  low,  guarded,  from  the  corridor,  but  from  the 
opposite  direction  to  that  taken  by  Calhoun,  reached 
him. 

"Here!  Calhoun!  Here!" 
Calhoun  halted.  There  was  silence  for  an  in- 
stant, then  Calhoun  retraced  his  steps  and  passed 
by  the  door  again.  There  were  a  few  hurried  words 
in  a  whisper,  which  the  Hawk  could  not  catch;  and 
then  the  footsteps  of  both  men  retreated  along  the 
corridor. 

The  Hawk  opened  the  door  wider,  and  peered 
out.  The  two  men  were  well  down  the  corridor 
now;  and  now,  as  they  passed  the  single  incandescent 
that  lighted  that  end  of  the  hall,  Calhoun's  com- 
panion reached  up  and  turned  it  out. 

"Why,  say — thanks!"  murmured  the  Hawk,  and 
stepped  out  into  the  corridor  himself. 

83 


SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS         89 

It  was  now  quite  dark  at  that  end,  and  the  men 
had  disappeared.  The  Hawk  moved  silently  and 
swiftly  along,  keeping  close  to  the  wall.  Presently 
he  caught  the  sound  of  their  voices  again,  and  nod- 
ded to  himself.  He  remembered  that  in  going  out  this 
way  yesterday  he  had  noticed  that  the  corridor,  for 
some  architectural  reason,  made  a  sharp,  right-angled 
jut  just  befpre  it  gave  on  the  side-street  entrance. 
He  stepped  now  across  to  the  other  side  of  the  cor- 
ridor, and  stole  forward  to  a  position  where  he  could 
look  diagonally  past  the  projecting  angle  of  the  jut. 
The  two  men,  standing  there,  showed  plainly  in  the 
light  from  a  street  arc  that  shone  into  the  entrance- 
way  through  the  large  plate-glass  square  over  the 
door.  The  Hawk,  quite  secure  from  observation, 
nestled  back  against  the  wall — and  an  ominous  smile 
settled  on  the  Hawk's  lips.  The  face  of  Calhoun's 
companion  was  covered  with  a  mask. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  leery  about  here,"  the  man 
was  saying.  "There's  no  one  goes  out  or  comes  in 
this  way  at  night.  Well,  it's  a  nice  mess,  eh?  So  the 
old  Shylock  called  the  turn  on  you,  did  he?" 

There  seemed  to  be  a  helpless  note  in  Calhoun's 
voice.  He  passed  his  hand  heavily  across  his  eyes. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  he  cried  out. 
"What  do  you  know  about  what  happened  in  there?" 

"Nothing  much,"  said  the  other  coolly.  "Except 
that  I'm  the  guy  that  pinched  the  swag,  and  hit  Kir- 
schell  that  welt  on  the  head." 

"You!"     Calhoun  involuntarily  stepped  back. 

"Yes,  sure — me  1"    The  man  shrugged  his  shoul- 


90  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

ders.  "Me  and  a  pal  who  was  outside.  He's  away 
now  putting  the  cash  box  where  it  won't  come  to  any 
harm — savvy?  He'll  be  back  pretty  soon." 

The  Hawk's  lips  moved. 

"Number  Three  and  Number  Seven,"  whispered 
the  Hawk  gently. 

"I — I  don't  understand,"  said  Calhoun  dazedly. 
"Then  why  are  you  telling  me  this.  And  why  are 
you  staying  here?  And  how  did  you  know  that 
Kirschell  accused  me  of  being  in  it?" 

"That's  another  one  that's  easy,"  announced  the 
man  evenly.  "Because  it  was  part  of  the  game  to 
make  him  think  so." 

Calhoun  seemed  to  stiffen  up. 

"What!     You  mean,  you " 

"You're  getting  it!"  said  the  other  shortly.  "But 
you'd  better  wait  until  you  get  it  all  before  you  start 
spitting  your  teeth  out!  Mabbe  you've  heard  of  a 
little  interference  with  the  telegraph  wires,  and  a  few 
small  jobs  pulled  off  around  here  where  some  inno- 
cent parties  accidentally  got  croaked?  Ah — you 
have,  eh !  Well,  that's  where  you  come  in,  Calhoun. 
We  want  you — and  when  we  want  anything,  we  get 
it!  See?  We  knew  about  that  note,  and  we've  been 
expecting  the  railroad  crowd  to  wake  up  some  time, 
and  we  had  you  picked  out  to  place  our  bets  on 
against  them.  They  woke  up  to-day  and  began  to 
nose  over  the  line.  It  ain't  likely  to  do  them  much 
good,  but  there's  a  chance — and  we  ain't  taking 
chances.  We  don't  want  much  from  you,  Calhoun, 
just  a  little  thing,  and  it'll  bring  you  more  money 


SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS         91 

than  you  ever  saw  in  your  life  before  and  without 
you  running  any  risk.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  stand 
for  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  splice  or  tap  on  the 
line  that  they're  suspicious  of — you  can  say  it's  a 
repair  job  of  your  own,  see?" 

An  angry  flush  was  tinging  Calhoun's  cheeks. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  burst  out  passionately.  "Well, 
I'll  see  you  damned  first!" 

"Will  you?"  returned  the  other  calmly.  "All  right, 
my  bucko !  It's  your  funeral.  Take  your  choice. 
That — or  twenty  years  in  the  penitentiary.  You're 
in  cold  on  this.  Think  it  over  a  bit.  For  instance, 
how  did  you  come  to  make  the  break  of  wanting 
Kirschell  to  indorse  the  payment  on  the  back  of  the 
note,  which  made  him  open  his  safe?" 

"How  do  you  know  I  did?"  Calhoun  flashed  back 
sharply. 

"Mabbe  I'm  only  guessing  at  it,"  said  the  man 
nonchalantly;  "and  mabbe  I  was  back  in  the  outside 
room  when  you  did.  But,  say,  you  don't  happen  to 
remember,  do  you,  a  little  talk  you  had  with  a' 
stranger  up  the  line  to-day?  And  how  the  conver- 
sation got  around  to  loan  sharks,  and  how  he  told 
about  a  trick  they  had  of  giving  receipts  that  were 
phony,  and  how  he  beat  one  of  them  to  it  by  making 
the  shark  indorse  on  the  paper  itself?  Kind  of  sunk 
in,  and  you  bit — eh,  Calhoun?  We  don't  do  things 
by  halves.  We  happen  to  need  you.  And  what  do 
you  think  I  made  the  break  of  whispering  so  Kir- 
schell would  hear  me  for?" 

The  color  was  ebbing  from  Calhoun's  face. 


92  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"It's  not  proof  I"  The  defiant  ring  in  his  voice 
was  forced.  "I " 

"It's  enough  to  make  Kirschell  believe  it,  and 
that's  all  we  wanted  for  a  starter.  We'll  take  care 
of  the  rest!"  stated  the  man  grimly.  "What  did 
he  say  to  you?" 

Calhoun  answered  mechanically: 

"He  said  if  I  didn't  return  in  half  an  hour  with 
the  cash  box,  he'd  notify  the  police." 

"Oh,  ho!"  The  man's  lips  widened  in  a  grin 
under  the  edge  of  his  mask.  "So  he's  going  to  wait 
here,  eh?  Well,  so  much  the  better!  It'll  save  us 
a  trip  to  his  house.  Now,  see  here,  Calhoun,  let 
this  sink  in!"  He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and 
drew  out  a  slip  of  paper.  "Here's  your  note.  It 
was  on  the  desk  where  Kirschell  was  writing  on  it, 
and  I  pinched  it  when  I  pinched  the  cash  box.  We 
didn't  figure  we  were  going  to  make  the  haul  we 
did  to-night — we  were  after  you.  But  there's  some 
money  in  that  cash  box,  as  you  saw  for  yourself. 
Here's  the  idea:  Kirschell's  read  a  thing  or  two 
about  what's  going  on  around  here — enough  to  make 
him  know  that  there  ain't  much  our  gang'll  stop  at. 
If  you  say  you're  with  us,  me  and  my  pal  '11  go  in 
there  and  throw  the  fear  of  God  into  him.  Do  you 
get  it?  He'll  think  himself  lucky  to  get  off  by  keep- 
ing his  mouth  shut  about  to-night  when  he  finds  out 
who  he's  up  against.  Also  you  get  the  note  back, 
and  a  share  of  the  cash — and  more  to  come  later  on." 

"No !"  Calhoun  cried  out.     "No !    I'm  no  thief !" 

"All    right!"    agreed    the    other    indifferently. 


SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS         93 

"That's  one  side  of  it.  Here's  the  other:  Kirschell 
certainly  believes  you  took  it.  He's  a  shark  all  right, 
and  he  thinks  more  of  his  money  than  he  does  of 
anything  else,  or  he  wouldn't  have  given  you  the 
chance  he  did.  But  when  you  don't  show  back  there 
with  the  coin,  he'll  take  the  only  other  hope  he's  got 
of  getting  his  money  and  turn  on  the  police  tap — 
see?  What  are  you  going  to  do  then?  Make  a  break 
for  it,  or  let  'em  get  you?  Well,  it  doesn't  matter 
which.  This  note  and  a  chunk  of  the  cash  gets 
mailed  to-night — and  the  police  get  tipped  off  to 
watch  your  mail  in  the  morning.  Kind  of  reason- 
able, isn't  it?  Your  pal,  not  being  able  to  find  you, 
and  not  tumbling  to  the  fact  that  the  police  have  got 
you  until  too  late,  comes  across  with  your  share  like 
an  honest  little  man!  I  think  you  said  something 
about  proof,  Calhoun?  And  I  think  I  told  you  be- 
fore that  we  didn't  do  things  by  halves.  How  about 
that  on  top  of  Kirschell's  story — do  you  think  it 
would  cinch  a  jury,  or  do  you  think  they'd  believe  any 
little  fairy  story  you  might  tell  them,  say,  about 
meeting  me?  Does  it  look  any  more  like  twenty 
years  than  it  did?" 

There  was  a  sudden  agony  in  Calhoun's  face. 

"My  God!"  he  whispered.  "You — you  wouldn't 
do  that?" 

The  man  made  no  answer.  He  still  held  the  note 
in  his  hand — but  in  the  other  now  he  carelessly  dan- 
gled a  revolver. 

"You  wouldn't !    You  wouldn't  1"  Calhoun's  voice 


04  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

was  broken  now.  "I've  a  wife  and  children,  and — * 
my  God,  what  am  I  to  do!" 

"That  half-hour  Kirschell  gave  you  is  slipping 
along,"  suggested  the  other  uncompromisingly. 
"Here's  the  note,  and  there's  easy  money  waiting  for 
you." 

Calhoun  turned  on  the  other  like  a  man  demented. 

"Do  you  think  I'd  touch  that  cash !  Or  touch  that 
note — I  owe  it  I  I  may  not  have  been  able  to  pay  it 
— but  I  owe  it!" 

"Oh,  well,  suit  yourself  as  to  that,  too!"  said 
the  man  cynically.  "It's  the  other  thing  we  want. 
What's  the  wife  and  the  kids  you're  talking  about 
going  to  do  if  you  go  up  for  twenty  years?" 

Calhoun,  with  a  miserable  cry,  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

There  was  silence — a  minute  dragged  by. 

"Well?"  prompted  the  man  curtly. 

Calhoun  dropped  his  hands,  met  the  other's  eyes 
for  an  instant — and  turned  his  head  away. 

"Ah,  I  thought  you  would !"  said  the  man  calmly. 
"My  pal  ought  to  be  back  by  now,  and  as  soon  as 
he  comes  we'll  go  in  there  and  hand  Kirschell  his 

little  jolt,  and "  He  stopped.  There  was  a 

light  rapping  on  the  entrance  door.  "Here  he  is 
now!  We'll " 

The  Hawk  was  retreating  back  along  the  corridor. 
Again  he  opened  the  door  of  what  he  had  designated 
to  himself  as  the  secretary's  office,  and  for  the  sec- 
ond time  that  night  stepped  silently  into  the  roomt 
closing  the  door  behind  him.  The  sound  of  run/ 


SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS         95 

ning  water  came  from  Kirschell's  private  office,  but 
there  was  no  other  sound — the  Hawk  made  none 
as  he  once  more  gained  his  place  of  vantage  behind 
the  desk.  Kirschell  was  bending  over  the  wash- 
bowl, his  back  turned,  bathing  his  temple  and  face, 
and  now,  straightening  up,  he  bound  a  towel  tightly 
around  his  head. 

The  Hawk  watched  the  proceedings  impassively, 
his  head,  in  that  bird-like,  listening  attitude,  cocked 
on  one  shoulder  toward  the  outer  door.  Steps  were 
coming  along  the  corridor.  But  this  time  Kirschell, 
too,  heard  them — for  he  turned,  and,  as  the  corridor 
door  opened,  started  toward  his  desk.  He  reached 
it  and  sat  down,  as  Calhoun  entered  the  room. 

"Ah,  ha !"  snapped  Kirschell  triumphantly.  "So 
you've  thought  better  of  it,  have  you?  I  imagined 

you  would!  Well,  where's  the "  The  words 

seemed  to  freeze  on  his  lips;  there  was  a  sudden 
terror  in  his  face.  "What — what  does  this  mean?" 
he  faltered. 

Two  masked  men,  the  one  who  had  been  with  Cal- 
houn in  the  corridor,  and  a  taller,  more  heavily  built 
man,  had  stepped  in  behind  Calhoun,  and  were  ad- 
vancing toward  the  desk. 

The  short  man  pointed  a  revolver  at  Kirschell's 
head. 

"Calhoun  says  he  keeps  a  gun  in  the  middle  draw- 
er of  the  desk,"  he  grunted  to  his  companion.  "Get 
it!" 

The  other,  leaning  over,  pulled  the  drawer  open, 


96  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

and,  appropriating  Kirschell's  revolver,  stuck  it  in 
his  pocket. 

Kirschell's  tongue  circled  his  lips.  He  looked  wild- 
ly from  one  to  the  other. 

"We  just  dropped  in  to  make  a  confession,  Mr. 
Kirschell,"  said  the  short  man,  with  an  ugly  jeer. 
"We  don't  like  to  see  an  innocent  man  suffer — un- 
derstand? I'm  the  one  that  lifted  your  cash  box, 
you  measly  shark — me  and  my  pal  there.  I  heard 
you  trying  to  stick  it  on  Calhoun.  We  ain't  asking 
any  favours  for  ourselves,  and  when  we  get  through 
with  you,  you  can  tell  the  police  it  was  us,  and  that 
we're  part  of  the  crowd  that's  been  making  things 
lively  around  these  parts — you've  been  reading  the 
papers,  ain't  you  ? — but  you  open  your  mouth  about 
Calhoun,  you  put  him  in  bad  when  he  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  and  inside  of  twenty-four  hours  you'll 
be  found  in  a  dark  alley  somewhere  with  a  bullet 
through  you!  Get  me?  You  know  who  you're  up 
against  now,  and  you've  got  fair  warning!" 

Kirschell  was  huddled  in  his  chair.  His  little  black 
eyes  were  no  longer  restless — they  were  fixed  in  a 
sort  of  terrified  fascination  on  the  speaker. 

"Yes."  He  licked  his  lips  again.  "Yes,  I— I  un- 
derstand,"  he  mumbled. 

From  his  pocket  the  Hawk  took  a  mask,  which  he 
slipped  over  his  face;  and  from  his  pocket  he  took 
his  automatic. 

"I  don't  think  he  believes  you,"  sneered  the  sec- 
ond masked  man,  with  a  wicked  grin.  "Perhaps 
mabbe  we'd  better  twist  his  windpipe  a  little,  just 


SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS          97 

to  show  him  in  a  friendly  way  that  there  ain't  any 
mistake  about  it — eh?" 

"No,  no !"  Kirschell's  voice  was  full  of  fear.  "No, 

no!  I  believe — I "  His  words  ended  in  a 

choked  scream. 

The  man's  hands  had  shot  swiftly  out,  and  closed 
on  Kirschell's  throat.  He  was  shaking,  twisting,  and 
turning  Kirschell's  head  from  side  to  side.  His 
companion  laughed  brutally.  Came  a  series  of  gut- 
tural moans  from  Kirschell — and  Kirschell's  body 
began  to  slip  limply  down  in  his  chair. 

Calhoun  had  gone  white  to  the  lips. 

"Stop  it!  My  God,  stop  it!"  he  burst  out  fran- 
tically. "You  promised  me  you  wouldn't  do  him  any 
harm." 

"You  mind  your  own  business!"  snarled  the  man 
with  the  revolver.  "We  know  how  to  handle  his 
breed.  Give  him  enough  to  hold  him  for  a  while, 
Jim!  We " 

"Drop  that  revolver!  Drop  it!"  The  Hawk  was 
standing  in  the  doorway. 

There  was  a  startled  oath  from  the  leader  of  the 
two  men  as  he  whirled  around,  a  gasp  as  he  faced 
the  Hawk's  automatic — and  his  weapon  clattered  to 
the  floor.  The  other,  in  a  stunned  way,  still  hung 
over  Kirschell,  but  his  hands  had  relaxed  their  hold 
on  Kirschell's  throat. 

"Thank  you !"  drawled  the  Hawk.  "I  must  say 
I  agree  with  Mr.  Calhoun.  It's  not  a  pleasant  sight 
to  watch  a  man  being  throttled."  His  voice  rang 
suddenly  cold.  "You,  there!"  His  automatic  indi- 


98  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

cated  the  man  beside  Kirschell.  "Stand  back  at  the 
end  of  the  desk,  and  put  up  your  hands !" 

Calhoun  had  not  moved.  He  was  staring  numbly 
at  the  Hawk.  Kirschell,  making  guttural  sounds, 
was  clawing  at  his  throat. 

"Mr.  Calhoun,"  requested  the  Hawk  coolly,  "as 
I  happen  to  know  that  you  have  little  reason  to 
love  either  of  these  two  gentlemen,  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  pick  up  that  revolver  and  hand  it  to  me?" 

Calhoun  stooped  mechanically,  and  extended  it  to 
the  Hawk. 

"And  now  our  friend  over  there  with  his  hands  up, 
Mr.  Calhoun,"  purred  the  Hawk.  "You  will  find 
two  in  his  pockets — his  own,  and  Mr.  Kirschell's. 
Mr.  Kirschell,  I  am  sure,  is  already  fairly  well  con- 
vinced that  you  are  in  no  way  connected  with  the 
robbery  of  his  cash  box,  and  I  am  equally  sure  that 
in  no  way  could  you  better  dispel  any  lingering 
doubts  he  might  still  entertain  than  by  helping  to 
draw  these  gentlemen's  teeth." 

Calhoun  laughed  a  little  grimly  now. 

"I  don't  know  who  you  are,"  he  said,  his  lips  set, 
as  he  started  toward  the  man;  "but  I  guess  you're 
right.  I'd  like  to  see  them  get  what's  coming  to 
them." 

"Quite  so  I"  said  the  Hawk  pleasantly.  He  ac- 
cepted the  two  remaining  revolvers  from  Calhoun; 
and  from  his  pocket  produced  his  skeleton  keys. 
He  handed  them  to  Calhoun,  designating  one  of  the 
keys  on  the  ring.  "One  more  request,  Mr.  Cal- 
houn," he  said.  "I  entered  by  the  door  that  opens 


SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS        99 

on  the  corridor  from  this  other  office  here.  Will 
you  please  lock  it;  and,  on  your  way  back,  also  lock 
this  connecting  door  through  which  I  have  just  come 
in — the  key  of  the  latter,  I  noticed,  is  in  the  lock." 

Calhoun  nodded,  took  the  keys,  and  stepped  quick- 
ly from  the  room.  Kirschell,  evidently  not  serious- 
ly hurt  from  the  handling  he  had  received,  though 
still  choking  a  little  and  clearing  his  throat  with 
short  coughs,  was  regarding  the  Hawk  with  a  ques- 
tioning stare.  The  eyes  of  the  other  two  men  were 
on  the  Hawk's  revolver.  The  shorter  of  the  two 
suddenly  raised  a  clenched  fist. 

"The  Hawk!"  he  flashed  out  furiously.  "You 
cursed  snitch!  You'll  wish  you  were  dead  before 
we're  through  with  you!" 

"So  the  Butcher  told  me  last  night."  The  Hawk 
smiled  plaintively.  "Move  a  little  closer  together, 
you  two — yes,  like  that,  at  the  far  end  of  the  desk 
beside  each  other.  Thank  you  I  You  are  much  easier 
to  cover  that  way." 

Calhoun  returned,  locking  the  connecting  door  be- 
hind him,  and  handed  the  door  key,  together  with 
the  key-ring,  back  to  the  Hawk. 

The  Hawk  moved  forward  to  the  desk.  He  was 
alert,  quick,  ominous  now.  The  drawl,  the  pleas- 
antry was  gone. 

"Out  there  in  the  hall,"  he  said  coldly,  "I  heard 
Mr.  Calhoun  refuse  to  take  back  his  note — from  a 
thief.  You" — his  revolver  muzzle  jerked  toward 
the  short  man — "hand  it  out!" 


100  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  man  reached  viciously  into  his  pocket,  and 
tossed  the  note  on  the  desk. 

The  Hawk  pushed  it  toward  Kirschell. 

"Mr.  Kirschell,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  no  doubt 
had  good  reasons  for  it,  but  you  have  none  the  less 
falsely  accused  Mr.  Calhoun.  Furthermore,  Mr. 
Calhoun  has  been  instrumental  in  laying  these  two 
who  have  confessed  by  the  heels.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, if  you  are  the  man  I  think  you  are,  you 
will  tear  that  up." 

Kirschell  fingered  the  note  for  an  instant.  He 
looked  from  Calhoun  to  the  Hawk,  and  back  at  Cal- 
houn again. 

"Yes,"  he  said  abruptly — and  tore  it  into  several 
pieces.  "I  suppose  I  could  hardly  do  less.  You  are 
quite  right!  And,  Mr.  Calhoun,  I — I  apologise  to 
you." 

A  flush  spread  over  Calhoun's  face.  He  swal- 
lowed hard,  and  his  lips  quivered  slightly. 

"Mr.  Kirschell,"  he  stammered,  "I— I " 

"That's  all  right!"  interposed  the  Hawk  whimsi- 
cally. "Don't  start  any  mutual  admiration  society. 
I  dislike  embarrassing  situations;  and  besides,  Mr. 
Calhoun" — his  eyes  travelled  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  two  masked  men — "I  think  you  had  better  go 
now." 

"Go?"  repeated  Calhoun,  somewhat  bewilderedly. 

"Yes,"  supplemented  the  Hawk.  "As  far  as  you 
are  concerned,  you  are  clear  and  out  of  this  now. 
Stay  out  of  it,  and  say  nothing — that's  the  best 
thing  you  can  do." 


SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS       101 

"Well,  that  suits  me,"  said  Calhoun  with  a  wry 
smile,  "if  Mr.  Kirschell " 

"Exactly!  I  see!"  approved  the  Hawk.  "It  does 
you  credit.  But  Mr.  Kirschell  and  I  are  quite 
capable  of  settling  with  these  two ;  and  you  can  thank 
Mr.  Kirschell  further  to-morrow  if  you  like — when 
I'm  not  here !  Now — if  you  please !" 

Calhoun  turned,  and  walked  to  the  door.  His 
footsteps  echoed  back  from  the  general  office.  Then 
the  corridor  door  closed  behind  him. 

The  Hawk  addressed  the  two  masked  men. 

"Last  night,"  remarked  the  Hawk  gently,  "it  was 
the  Butcher,  and  to-night  it  is — pardon  me" — he  was 
close  in  front  of  the  two  now,  and,  with  a  jerk, 
snatched  the  masks  from  their  faces — "Whitie  Jim, 
and  the  Bantam!  Well,  I  might  have  known  from 
the  Butcher!  You're  all  out  of  the  same  kind  of 
cocoons!  The  poor  old  simp  at  the  head  of  your 
gang  is  sure  stuck  with  a  moth-eaten  lot!  He's 
sure  collected  a  bunch  of  left-overs !  Why,  say,  back 
there  in  New  York,  where  a  real  crook  couldn't  keep 
the  grin  off  his  face  every  time  he  met  you,  even 
the  police  had  you  passed  up  as  harmless  cripples !" 

"You  go  to  blazes !"  growled  the  Bantam,  with  an 
oath.  "You'll  sing  through  the  other  side  of  your 
mouth  for  this  yet !" 

"You  are  not  nice  to  me,  Bantam,"  said  the  Hawk, 
in  a  pained  voice.  "You  don't  appreciate  what  I'm 
doing  for  you.  It  was  a  piker  game  you  tried  to  hand 
Calhoun;  but,  even  at  that,  I  wouldn't  have  queered  it 
if  it  would  have  helped  you  work  out  a  few  more 


102  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

little  deals,  so  that  I  could  skim  the  cream  off  them. 
But  it  wouldn't !  I  don't  see  what  you  gain  by  inter- 
fering with  the  telegraph  lines,  but  I'll  let  you  in  on 
something.  I've  been  keeping  an  eye  on  MacVightie 
because  MacVightie's  been  keeping  an  eye  on  me, 
and  I  overheard  him  talking  to  the  superintendent 
to-night.  MacVightie's  got  an  idea  that  Calhoun's 
fooling  with  the  wires  now.  See  where  you  would 
have  been?  If  Calhoun  had  ever  got  started  on  the 
real  thing,  some  of  you  would  have  been  nipped — 
and,  say,  there's  nothing  like  that  going  to  happen 
if  I  can  help  it  I  You  and  your  crowd  are  too  valu- 
able to  me  to  take  any  chances  of  your  getting  in 
wrong  anywhere.  I'm  not  wringing  the  neck  of  the 
goose  that  lays  my  golden  eggs!  Tell  that  to  the 
guy  that's  supposed  to  have  the  brains  of  your  out- 
fit, will  you  ?  And  you  might  add  that  I  don't  want 
any  thanks.  I'm  getting  well  paid." 

"You'll  get  paid,  curse  you !"  The  Bantam's  voice 
was  hoarse  with  fury.  "You  butted  in  once  too 
often  last  night.  The  Butcher  warned  you.  There 
ain't  any  more  warnings.  You've  got  the  drop  on 
us  here  to-night,  but " 

"It's  getting  late,"  said  the  Hawk  wearily.  "And 
I'm  sure  Mr.  Kirschell  agrees  with  me  that  it  is 
about  time  to  produce  that  cash  box — do  you  not, 
Mr.  Kirschell?" 

Kirschell  made  no  reply. 

The  Hawk  smiled — unhappily. 

"I  don't  think  you  put  it  back  in  the  safe — I  see 
that  the  door  is  still  wide  open.  A  drawer  in  the 


SOME  OF  THE  LITTLE  SPIDERS       103 

desk,  then,  perhaps?  Ah — would  you!"  There  was 
a  sudden  deadly  coldness  in  the  Hawk's  voice.  The 
Bantam  had  edged  around  the  corner  of  the  desk. 
"If  any  of  you  move  another  inch,  I'll  drop  you  as 
quick  as  I'd  drop  a  mad  dog!  Now  then — if  the 
Cricket  will  oblige  ?  I'll  give  him  until  I  count  three. 
One— two " 

"Damn  you! — Kirschell's  face  was  livid  and  con- 
torted. He  wrenched  a  lower  drawer  open,  and 
flung  the  cash  box  on  the  desk. 

"The  Butcher,  Whitie  Jim,  the  Bantam,  and  the 
Cricket,"  murmured  the  Hawk.  "It's  good  to  see 
old  New  York  faces  out  here,  even  if  you  do  size  up 
like  busu-leaguers  trying  to  bust  into  high  society. 
You  can  take  that  towel  off,  if  you  like,  Cricket,  it 
doesn't  become  you  particularly — and,  as  you've 
washed  off  the  heart-rending  effect  of  that  little  bag 
of  liquid  stain  you  smashed  over  your  temple,  I'm 
sure  you'll  look  less  like  a  comic  opera  starl  No? 
Well,  please  yourself!"  The  Hawk  was  coolly 
transferring  the  contents  of  the  cash  box  to  his 
pockets  with  his  left  hand.  "These  papers,"  mused 
the  Hawk  deliberately  aloud,  "appear  to  be  some  se- 
curities you  lifted  on  that  Pullman  car  raid.  Rather 
neat  idea,  this,  establishing  this  office — sort  of  a 
clearing  house,  I  take  it,  for  the  gang's  drag-net — - 
'loans,  mortgages  and  general  exchange!'  I  take 
back  part  of  what  I  said — this  shows  a  first  faint 
glimmer  of  brains.  Well,  keep  the  office  going,  your 
interests  are  mine  I  You'll  notice  that  I  was  con- 
siderate enough  to  get  Calhoun  out  of  the  way  before 


104  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  show-down.  You  were  very  generous,  magnani- 
mous even,  Cricket — I  admire  you !  Calhoun'll 
swear  Mr.  Kirschell  is  the  squarest  man  on  earth — 
and  don't  forget  that's  another  little  debt  of  grati- 
tude you  owe  the  Hawk.  Three  thousand  dollars  1" 
The  Hawk's  pockets  were  bulging.  "Must  have  been 
what  you  separated  some  one  from  when  I  wasn't 
looking!  Glad  you  weren't  stingy  with  your  bait  for 
Calhoun !  I  heard  to-day  that  Mr.  Kirschell  kept  a 
good  deal  of  cash  in  his  safe,  but  I  had  no  idea  that 
Mr.  Kirschell  was  the  Cricket — not  till  I  came  here 
this  evening  to  take  a  look  at  Mr.  Kirschell's  safe. 
I  must  say  it  has  been  a  surprise — a  very  pleasant 
surprise." 

The  cash  box  was  empty.  The  Hawk  backed  away 
from  the  desk. 

None  of  the  three  men  spoke — they  were  eying 
him  like  caged  and  infuriated  beasts. 

The  Hawk  reached  the  doorway. 

"You  will  observe,"  smiled  the  Hawk  engaging- 
ly, "that  this  is  now  the  only  exit,  and  that  as  I 
walk  backward  across  the  outer  office  any  one  who 
steps  into  this  doorway  will  be  directly  in  the  line 
of  fire."  He  bowed  facetiously,  backed  through  the 
doorway  and  across  the  general  office,  and,  still  fac- 
ing the  inner  room,  opened  the  corridor  door  and 
stepped  out. 

And  then  the  Hawk  spoke  again. 

"I  bid  you  good  evening,  gentlemen!"  said  the 
Hawk  softly.  "You  will  pardon  me  if  I  put  you  to  the 
inconvenience  of  locking  this  door — on  the  outside." 


WANTED THE  HAWK DEAD  OR  ALIVE 

ACVIGHTIE  had  become  trouble- 
some. For  two  days  MacVightie  had 
very  seriously  annoyed  the  Hawk.  It 
was  for  that  reason  that  the  Hawk  now 
crept  stealthily  up  the  dark,  narrow  stairs,  and,  on 
the  landing,  listened  in  strained  attention  before  the 
door  of  his  own  room. 

Reassured  finally,  he  opened  the  door  inch  by  inch, 
noiselessly.  The  bolt,  in  grooves  that  were  carefully 
oiled,  made  no  sound  in  slipping  into  place,  as  the 
Hawk  entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  him.  So 
far,  so  good!  He  was  quick,  alert,  but  still  silent, 
as,  in  the  darkness,  he  crossed  swiftly  to  the  win- 
dow, and  crouched  down  against  the  wall.  A  min- 
ute, two,  went  by.  The  fire-escape,  passing  at  an 
angle  a  short  distance  below  the  window  sill,  and 
at  first  nebulous  in  the  blackness,  gradually  took  on 
distinct  and  tangible  shape.  Still  the  Hawk  held 
there  motionless,  searching  it  with  his  eyes — and 
then,  abruptly,  satisfied  that  it  sheltered  no  lurking 
shadow,  he  straightened  up,  thrust  his  automatic 
back  into  his  pocket,  pulled  down  the  shade,  and, 
turning  back  into  the  room,  switched  on  the  light. 

105 


106  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

MacVightie,  it  appeared,  still  had  lingering  sus- 
picions of  this  room  over  the  somewhat  disreputable 
saloon  below,  and  still  had  lingering  suspicions  of 
its  occupant.  All  that  afternoon  the  Hawk  was  quite 
well  aware  that  he  had  been  shadowed — but  the  re- 
sult had  been  rather  in  his  favour  than  in  Mac- 
Vightie's.  From  the  moment  he  had  discovered  that 
he  was  being  followed,  he  had  devoted  his  time  to 
making  applications  for  a  job — for  MacVightie's 
benefit — that  being  the  reason  he  had  given  Mac- 
Vightie for  his  presence  in  Selkirk.  Later  on,  when 
it  had  grown  dark,  having  business  of  his  own,  he 
had  left  MacVightie's  satellite  standing  on  a  street 
corner  somewhat  puzzled  just  which  way  to  turn! 
That,  however,  had  no  bearing  on  the  watch  that 
had  been,  or  might  be  at  the  present  moment,  set 
upon  this  room. 

The  Hawk,  in  apparent  abstraction,  was  flipping  a 
coin  up  in  the  air  and  catching  it.  There  was  a 
slight  frown  on  the  Hawk's  face.  MacVightie's 
suspicions  were  still  lingering  for  the  simple  reason 
that  MacVightie,  utterly  at  sea,  was  clutching  at 
the  only  straw  in  sight,  unless — the  coin  slipped 
through  the  Hawk's  fingers  and  fell  beside  his  trunk. 
He  stooped  to  pick  it  up— yes,  not  only  had  the  room 
been  searched,  but  the  trunk  had  been  opened!  The 
single  strand  of  hair,  almost  indiscernible  against  the 
brass  and  quite  innocently  caught  in  the  lock,  was 
broken.  Well,  he  had  not  finished  that  mental  sen- 
tence. Unless — what? 

He  tucked  the  coin  into  his  pocket,  and,  standing 


WANTED— THE  HAWK— DEAD  OR  ALIVE  107 

up,  yawned  and  stretched  himself.  With  the  toe  of 
his  boot  he  lazily  pushed  a  chair  out  from  the  wall. 
The  chair  fell  over.  The  Hawk  picked  it  up,  and 
quite  casually  set  it  down — near  the  door.  He  took 
off  his  coat,  and  flung  it  over  the  back  of  the  chair. 

The  Hawk's  face  was  greyer  now,  as  it  set  in 
rigid  lines,  but  there  was  no  tremor  in  the  hand  that 
inserted  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  trunk.  He  flung 
back  the  lid — and  his  eyes,  for  an  instant,  searched 
the  room  again  sharply.  The  window  shade  was  se- 
curely drawn;  the  coat  over  the  back  of  the  chair 
completely  screened  the  keyhole  of  the  door.  He 
laughed  a  little  then — mirthlessly.  Well,  the  trunk 
had  been  opened!  Had  MacVightie  found  all — or 
nothing? 

His  fingers  were  working  swiftly,  deftly  now 
around  the  inside  edges  of  the  lid.  He  was  either 
caught  here,  cornered,  at  bay — or  MacVightie,  once 
for  all,  would  be  satisfied,  and,  as  far  as  Mac- 
Vightie was  concerned,  the  coast  would  hereafter  be 
clear.  The  Hawk's  dark  eyes  narrowed,  the  square 
under  jaw  crept  out  and  set  doggedly.  It  had  been 
a  close  call,  perilously  close,  that  other  night  when 
he  had  taken  the  ten  thousand  dollars  from  the  pay- 
master's safe,  and  MacVightie  had  followed  him 
here  to  this  room.  He  had  pulled  the  wool  over 
MacVightie's  eyes  for  the  moment — but  MacVightie 
had  returned  to  the  old  trail  again.  Well,  the  cards 
were  on  the  table  now,  and  it  was  a  gamble  that  was 
grim  enough!  Either  he  was  quit  of  MacVightie, 


108  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

could  even  count  on  MacVightie  as  a  sort  of  sponsvi 
for  his  innocence;  or — 

"Ah!"  The  ingeniously  fashioned  false  tray  in 
the  curvature  of  the  lid  had  come  away  in  the  Hawk's 
hands.  He  was  safe!  MacVightie  had  missed  it! 
In  the  tray,  untouched,  where  he  had  left  them,  lay 
the  packages  of  banknotes  from  the  paymaster's 
safe;  in  the  tray  still  glittered  the  magnificent  dia- 
mond necklace,  whose  theft  from  the  wife  of  His 
Excellency  the  Governor  of  the  State  had  already 
furnished  more  than  one  of  the  big  dailies  back  in  the 
East  with  attractive  copy  for  their  Sunday  editions; 
and  there,  undisturbed,  were  the  contents  of  Isaac 
Kirschell's  cash  box,  a  trifling  matter  of  some  three 
thousand  dollars ;  and  there  too,  snugly  tucked  away 
in  one  corner,  was  the  bundle  of  crisp,  new,  counter- 
feit ten-dollar  bills.  The  Hawk  grinned  maliciously, 
as  his  eyes  rested  on  the  counterfeit  notes.  The  one 
he  had  sent,  inscribed  with  his  compliments,  to  Mac- 
Vightie, when  he  had  returned  the  otherwise  empty 
paymaster's  bag  to  the  detective,  had  not  pleased 
MacVightie  I 

Quite  at  his  ease  now,  the  Hawk  fitted  the  false 
top  back  into  the  lid,  closed  the  trunk,  locked  it,  drew 
a  chair  up  to  the  table,  and  sat  down.  With  Mac- 
Vightie removed  as  a  possible  factor  of  interruption, 
there  was  another,  and  very  pressing  little  matter  to 
which  he  was  now  at  liberty  to  give  his  attention.  He 
produced  a  folded  sheet  of  paper  from  his  inside  vest 
pocket,  spread  it  out  on  the  table  before  him,  and  in- 
spected it  with  a  sort  of  cynical  curiosity.  In  each 


WANTED— THE  HAWK— DEAD  OR  ALIVE  109 

corner  were  tack  holes.  He  had  removed  it  less  than 
half  an  hour  ago — not  through  any  misguided  dislike 
to  publicity,  but  simply  because  he  had  urgently  re- 
quired a  piece  of  paper — from  a  conspicuous  posi- 
tion on  the  wall  of  the  railroad  station.  It  was  a 
police  circular.  The  Hawk  had  not  before  had  an 
opportunity  to  absorb  more  than  the  large  type  cap- 
tions— he  filled  his  pipe  calmly  now,  as  he  read  it  in 
its  entirety: 

$5,000  REWARD— FOR  EX-SING  SING 
CONVICT 

Five  Thousand  Dollars  Reward  Will  Be  Paid  For 
Information  Leading  to  the  Arrest  and  Conviction 
of  THE  HAWK,  Alias  HARRY  MAUL. 

Here  followed  a  description  tallying  with  the  one 
given  by  MacVightie  to  Lanson,  the  division  super- 
intendent, and  which  Lanson  had  caustically  re- 
marked would  not  fit  more  than  twenty-five  thousand 
men  in  Selkirk  City;  followed  after  that  a  resume  of 
the  crimes  recently  committed  on  the  railroad, 
amongst  them  the  theft  of  the  diamond  necklace  and 
the  robbery  of  the  paymaster's  safe;  and,  at  the  end, 
in  bold-faced  type  again : 

$2,000  REWARD 

Two  Thousand  Dollars  Reward  Will  Also  be  Paid 
For  Information  Leading  to  the  Arrest  and  Convic- 
tion of  Each  and  Every  One  of  THE  HAWK'S 
Confederates. 


110  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  Hawk  smiled  broadly,  as  he  held  the  flame  of 
a  match  to  his  pipe  bowl.  The  last  paragraph  was 
exquisitely  ironical.  Those  whom  MacVightie  so 
blithely  called  the  "Hawk's  confederates"  were  vying 
with  each  other  at  that  exact  moment,  and  for  the 
exact  amount  of  two  thousand  dollars  offered  by  the 
Master  Spider  of  the  gang,  for  the  privilege  of  put- 
ting an  even  more  conclusive  end — in  the  shape  of  a 
knife  thrust,  a  bullet,  or  a  blackjack — to  the  Hawk! 

"And,"  said  the  Hawk  softly,  as  he  turned  the 
circular  over,  "I  guess  they'd  make  it  a  whole  lot 
more  if  they  knew  that  I  had — this!" 

The  back  of  the  circular1  was  covered  with  line 
after  line  of  what,  seemingly,  was  but  a  meaningless 
jumble  of  scribbled  letters — nor,  in  this  case,  were 
the  letters  any  too  well  formed.  The  Hawk  had 
laboured  under  difficulties  when  the  telegraph  soun- 
der had  "broke"  unexpectedly  with  the  message.  He 
had  been  listening — as  he  was  always  listening  when 
within  sound  of  a  telegraph  instrument — but  he  had 
never  known  a  message  from  the  Wire  Devils  to 
come  through  at  so  early  an  hour  in  the  evening  be- 
fore. He  had  shaken  MacVightie's  man  off  the  trail 
and  had  gone  down  to  the  depot,  intending  to  go  up 
the  line  to  the  first  small  station,  where,  with  little 
chance  of  being  discovered,  he  could  spend  the  night 
within  earshot  of  the  operator's  instrument — in  the 
hope  that  his  vigil  would  not,  as  it  sometimes  did, 
prove  futile.  He  had  been  standing  under  the  dis- 
patcher's open  window  waiting  for  a  train,  when  the 
police  circular  tacked  on  the  station  wall  had  caught 


WANTED— THE  HAWK— DEAD  OR  ALIVE  111 

his  eye.  The  large  type  was  readily  decipherable, 
but  the  platform  lights  were  poor,  and  he  had  stepped 
closer  to  read  the  remainder — and  instead,  glancing 
quickly  about  him  to  see  that  he  was  not  observed,  he 
had  snatched  the  circular  from  the  wall,  and,  whip- 
ping a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  had  scrawled  on  the 
reverse  side,  as  best  he  could,  the  message  that  was 
rattling  in  over  the  dispatcher's  sounder  from  the 
room  above.  He  had  taken  chances — but  he  had 
played  in  luck.  No  one  had  noticed  him,  and — well, 
he  was  here  now  with  the  message;  and,  since  it 
must  sooner  or  later  have  been  put  to  the  proof  in 
any  case,  he  was  back  here,  too,  to  find  that  he  was 
quit  of  MacVightie. 

"Yes,"  confided  the  Hawk  to  himself,  as  he 
reached  for  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  in  the  drawer  of 
the  table,  "I  guess  I  played  in  luck — both  ways. 
Wonder  if  there's  another  ripe  little  melon  here  go- 
ing to  be  shoved  my  way  on  a  gold  platter  by  the 
Butcher  and  his  crowd?" 

The  Hawk  studied  the  cipher  for  a  moment. 

"Iqrtvy  .  .  .  key  letter  .  .  .  stroke  at  six  .  .  .two- 
three-one,"  he  murmured. 

He  drew  the  fresh  sheet  of  paper  toward  him, 
and  began  to  work  busily.  Occasionally  he  paused, 
staring  dubiously  at  a  letter — he  had  taken  the  mes- 
sage under  far  from  ideal  conditions,  and  a  mistake 
here  and  there,  if  not  fatal,  was  annoying  and  con- 
fusing. Finally,  however,  the  Hawk  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  and  whistled  low  under  his  breath.  The 


112  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

message,  deciphered  and  arranged  into  words  and 
sentences,  ran: 

Final  orders.  Number  One,  Three,  and  Six 
hold  up  Fast  Mail  three  miles  east  of  Burke's 
Siding  to-night.  Cut  wires  on  approach.  Ex- 
press car  next  to  engine.  Uncouple  and  pro- 
ceed. Diamond  shipment  in  safe.  Messenger 
drugged.  No  interference  with  remainder  of 
train.  Deliver  safe  five-mile  crossing  to  Num- 
ber Four  and  Seven.  Number  One,  Three,  and 
Six  take  engine  and  car  further  along  the  line. 
Return  separately  to  Selkirk. 

Again  the  Hawk  whistled  low  under  his  breath — 
and  for  the  second  time  reached  into  his  inside  vest 
pocket.  He  took  out  a  letter  that  wfcs  addressed, 
care  of  general  delivery,  to  Mr.  J.  P.  Carrister.  The 
Hawk  puffed  pleasantly  at  his  pipe  as  he  read  it: 

"Dear  Friend:  The  folks  are  all  well,  and 
hope  you  are  the  same.  I  haven't  had  time  to 
write  much  lately.  I  like  my  new  job  fine.  Say, 
I  felt  like  a  Fifth  Avenue  dook  for  about  umpty 
seconds  to-day.  One  of  the  fellows  in  the  office 
let  me  hold  a  package  of  diamonds  in  my  hand 
just  to  see  what  it  felt  like.  Gee!  Say,  you 
could  almost  shove  it  in  your  vest  pocket,  and  it 
was  invoiced  through  customs  at  twenty  thou- 
sand plunks.  They  were  unset  stones,  and  came 
in  from  Amsterdam.  It  made  me  feel  queer. 


WANTED— THE  HAWK— DEAD  OR  ALIVE  115 

I  wouldn't  like  to  be  the  fellow  that  has  to  keep 
his  eye  on  it  any  of  the  way  from  here  to  San 
Francisco,  where  it's  going  to-morrow  by  ex- 
press. If  you  see  any  bright  lights  flashing 
around  your  burg  that  you  can't  account  for 
about  11:15  next  Wednesday  night,  you'll  know 
it's  the  diamonds  going  through  in  the  express- 
car  safe.  I'm  getting  to  be  some  joker,  eh? 
We  all  went  down  to  Coney  last  Sunday.  It's 
been  fierce  and  hot  here.  Say,  don't  be  a  clam, 
write  us  a  line.  Well,  I  guess  there  ain't  any 
more  news.  Yours  truly,  Bud." 

The  Hawk,  instead  of  folding  up  the  letter  and 
returning  it  to  his  pocket,  began  meditatively  to  tear 
it  into  minute  shreds,  and  with  it  the  police  circular 
and  the  sheet  of  paper  on  which  he  had  worked  out 
the  cipher  message.  The  Fast  Mail  scheduled  Sel- 
kirk at  1 1 :15 — and  this  was  Wednesday  night! 

"Twenty  thousand  dollars,"  said  the  Hawk  gently 
under  his  breath.  "Thanks,  Bud,  old  boy!  You 
were  there  with  the  goods  all  right,  but  it  wasn't  a 
one-man  job,  and  I  didn't  think  there  was  going  to  be 
anything  doing."  The  Hawk  grinned  at  the  ceil- 
ing. "And  just  as  I  was  about  passing  up  the  last 
check,  here  they  go  and  fix  it  for  me  to  scoop  the 
whole  pot!  Three  miles  east  of  Burke's  Siding, 
eh?" 

The  Hawk  relapsed  into  silence  for  a  moment; 
then  he  spoke  again. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hawk,  "I  guess  that  ought  to 


114  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

work.  She  won't  make  the  three  miles  from  the 
siding  under  five  or  six  minutes.  She's  due  at  Burke's 
at  ten-ten.  I  can  make  it  on  the  local  out  of  here 
at  eight-thirty.  Twenty  thousand  dollars — in  unset 
stones!  Just  as  good  as  cash — and  a  lot  easier  to 
carry!" 

The  Hawk  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  five  min- 
utes of  eight.  He  rose  leisurely  from  his  chair, 
stooped  for  a  precautionary  inspection  of  the  trunk 
lock,  put  on  his  coat,  and,  moving  toward  the  door, 
switched  off  the  light. 

"If  I  get  away  with  this,"  observed  the  Hawk,  as 
he  went  down  the  stairs  and  let  himself  out  through 
the  street  door,  "it'll  be  good-night  for  keeps  if  any 
of  the  gang  ever  pick  up  my  trail — and  they  won't 
quit  until  they  do !  And  then  there's  MacVightie  and 
the  police.  I  guess  there'll  be  some  little  side-step- 
ping to  do — what?  Oh,  well" — he  shrugged  his 
shoulders — "I  guess  I'll  get  a  bite  of  supper,  any- 
way— there's  no  telling  when  I'll  have  a  chance  to 
eat  again  1" 


THREADS  IN  THE  WEB 

IT  was  not  far  to  the  station — down  through 
the  lane  from  the  Palace  Saloon — and  close  to 
the  station,  he  remembered,  there  was  a  little 
short-order  house  that  was  generally  patron- 
ised by  the  railroad  men.     Old  Mother  Barrett's 
short-order  house,  they  called  it.     She  was  the  wife 
of  an  engineer  who  had  been  killed,  he  had  heard, 
and  she  had  a  boy  working  somewhere  on  the  rail- 
road.    Not  that  he  was  interested  in  these  details; 
in  fact,  as  he  walked  along,  the  Hawk  was  not  in- 
terested in  old  Mother  Barrett  in  a  personal  sense  at 
all — but,  as  he  reached  the  short-order  house  and 
entered,  his  eyes,  as  though  magnetically  drawn  in 
that  direction,  fixed  instantly  on  the  little  old  woman 
behind  the  counter. 

The  Hawk  was  suddenly  very  much  interested  in 
old  Mother  Barrett.  It  was  not  that  she  made  a 
somewhat  pathetic  figure,  that  she  drooped  a  little 
at  the  shoulders,  that  her  face  under  her  grey  hair 
looked  tired,  or  that,  though  scrupulously  neat,  her 
clothes  were  a  little  threadbare — it  was  none  of 
these  things — it  was  old  Mother  Barrett's  hands  that 
for  the  moment  concerned  the  Hawk.  She  was  in 

115 


116  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  act  of  adjusting  her  spectacles  and  picking  up  a 
very  new  and  crisp  ten-dollar  bill,  that  a  customer 
from  the  stool  in  front  of  her  had  evidently  tendered 
in  payment  for  his  meal.  The  Hawk  shot  a  quick 
glance  up  and  down  the  room.  There  were  several 
other  customers  at  the  long  counter,  but  the  stool 
beside  the  owner  of  the  ten-dollar  bill  was  vacant — 
and  the  Hawk  unostentatiously  straddled  it. 

He  glanced  casually  at  the  man  at  his  elbow;  al- 
lowed his  eyes  to  stray  to  the  kindly,  motherly  old 
face  with  its  grey  Irish  eyes,  that  was  puckered  now 
in  a  sort  of  hesitant  indecision — and  glanced  a  little 
more  than  casually  at  the  banknote  she  kept  turning 
over  and  over  in  her  hands.  No,  he  had  not  been 
mistaken.  It  was  one  of  those  counterfeits  which, 
according  to  MacVightie,  had  flooded  the  East  and 
were  now  making  their  appearance  in  Selkirk,  and  it 
was  a  duplicate  of  those  in  the  false  tray  of  his 
trunk.  His  eyes  perhaps  were  sharper  than  old 
Mother  Barrett's — in  any  case,  his  identification  was 
the  quicker,  for  his  gaze  had  wandered  to  the  coffee 
urn,  and  he  was  drumming  idly  on  the  counter  with 
his  finger  tips  before  the  little  old  woman  finally 
spoke. 

"I — I'm  afraid  I  can't  take  this,"  she  said  slowly, 
handing  the  banknote  back  across  the  counter. 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  demanded  the  man 
gruffly. 

"Why — it's — it's  counterfeit,"  she  said  a  little 
anxiously,  as  though  she  were  fearful  of  giving  of- 
fence. 


THREADS  IN  THE  WEB  117 

The  Hawk's  eyes,  with  mild  and  quite  impersonal 
interest,  were  on  the  man's  face  now.  The  man  had 
picked  up  the  bill,  and  was  pretending  to  examine  it 
critically. 

"Counterfeit!"  echoed  the  man  shortly.  "Say, 
what  are  you  giving  us!  It's  as  good  as  wheat! 
Give  me  my  change,  and  let  me  get  out — I'm  in  a 
hurry!"  He  pushed  the  bill  toward  her  again. 

She  did  not  pick  it  up  from  the  counter  this  time. 

"I'm  sorry."  She  seemed  genuinely  disturbed, 
and  the  sweet  old  face  was  full  of  sympathy.  "I'm 
sure  you  did  not  know  that  it  was  not  good,  and  ten 
dollars  is  a  great  deal  to  lose,  isn't  it?  It's  too  bad. 
Do  you  remember  where  you  got  it?" 

"Look  here,  you're  dippy!"  snapped  the  man.  "I 
tell  you  it's  not  counterfeit.  Anyway,  it's  all  I've  got. 
If  you  want  your  pay,  take  it!" 

"You  owe  me  thirty-five  cents,  but  I  can't  take  it 
out  of  this."  She  shook  her  head  in  a  troubled  way. 
"This  is  a  counterfeit." 

"You  seem  to  be  pretty  well  posted — on  counter- 
feits !"  sneered  the  man  offensively.  "How  do  you 
know  it's  a  counterfeit — eh?" 

"Because  I've  seen  one  like  this  before,"  she  said 
simply.  "My  son  showed  me  one  the  last  time  he 
was  in  from  his  run,  and  he  warned  me  to  be  careful 
about  taking  any." 

"Oh,  your  son — eh?"  sneered  the  man  again. 
"Some  son!  Wised  you  up,  did  he?  Carries  it 
around  with  him — eh?  And  who  does  he  shove  it 
off  on?" 


118  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

There  was  a  queer  little  sound  from  the  old  lady — 
like  a  quick,  hurt  catch  of  her  breath.  The  Hawk's 
eyes  travelled  swiftly  to  her  face.  She  had  turned  a 
little  pale,  and  her  lips  were  trembling — but  she  was 
drawn  up  very  proudly,  and  the  thin  shoulders  were 
squared  back. 

"I  love  my  boy,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  tears 
came  suddenly  into  her  eyes,  "I  love  him  with  all 
my  heart,  but  I  should  a  thousand  times  rather  see 
him  dead  than  know  him  for  a  thief.  And  a  man 
who  attempts  to  pass  these  things  knowingly  is  a — 
thief.  I  have  been  very  respectful  to  you,  sir,  and 
I  do  not  deserve  what  you  have  said.  I  assumed  that 
you  had  been  swindled  yourself,  and  that  you  were 
perfectly  honest  in  offering  the  bill  to  me,  but  now 
from  your " 

"What's  the  trouble,  Mother  Barrett?" — a  big 
railroader  farther  up  the  counter  had  laid  down  his 
knife  and  fork,  and  swung  round  on  his  stool. 

With  a  hurried  glance  in  that  direction,  the  man 
hastily  thrust  the  counterfeit  note  into  his  pocket, 
laid  down  thirty-five  cents  on  the  counter — and,  with 
a  dive  across  the  room,  disappeared  through  the 
door. 

The  Hawk  stared  thoughtfully  after  him. 

"I  couldn't  butt  in  on  that,  and  hand  him  one," 
said  the  Hawk  to  himself  almost  apologetically. 
"Not  with  twenty  thousand  in  sight!  I  couldn't 
afford  to  get  into  a  row,  and  maybe  miss  the  local, 
and  spill  the  beans,  could  I?" 

He  looked  around  again  to  find  the  little  old 


THREADS  IN  THE  WEB  119 

woman  wiping  her  spectacles,  and  smiling  at  him  a 
little  wistfully. 

"I'm  sorry  that  you  had  to  listen  to  any  unpleas- 
antness," she  said.  "My  little  place  isn't  very  pre- 
tentious, but  I  would  not  like  to  have  you,  a  stranger, 
think  that  sort  of  thing  was  customary  here.  What 
can  I  get  you,  sir?" 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  railroaders  evidently 
swore  by  old  Mother  Barrett,  and  that  one  of  them 
had  been  quick  to  shift  her  trouble  to  his  own  shoul- 
ders! 

"I  guess  he  was  a  bad  one,  all  right!"  growled 
the  Hawk. 

She  shook  her  head  regretfully.  There  was  no 
resentment  left — it  was  as  though,  indeed,  the  man 
was  a  charge  upon  her  own  conscience. 

"He  meant  to  be  dishonest,  I  am  afraid,"  she  ad- 
mitted reluctantly;  "but  I  am  sure  he  cannot  be 
thoroughly  bad,  for  he  wasn't  very  old — just  a  young 
man." 

She  was  a  very  simple,  trusting  little  old  lady — 
as  well  as  a  sweet  little  old  lady.  Why  should  her 
illusions  be  dispelled?  The  Hawk  nodded  gravely. 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  the  Hawk,  "perhaps  he 
hasn't  had  any  one  to  keep  him  straight.  Perhaps 
he  hasn't  got  what  keeps  a  good  many  chaps  straight 
— a  good  mother." 

The  mist  was  quick  in  her  eyes  again.  He  had 
not  meant  to  bring  that — he  had  meant  only  to  show 
her  a  genuine  admiration  and  respect. 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  answered  slowly.     "But  if  he 


120  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

has,  I  hope  she  will  never  know."  She  shook  her 
head  again;  and  then:  "But  you  have  not  told  me 
yet  what  you  would  like,  sir?" 

The  Hawk  gave  his  order.  He  ate  mechanically. 
Back  in  his  mind  he  was  reviewing  a  rather  exten- 
sive acquaintanceship  with  certain  gentry  whose  mo- 
rals were  not  wholly  above  reproach.  Failing,  how- 
ever, to  identify  the  individual  with  the  counterfeit 
note  as  one  of  this  select  number,  he  finally  dismissed 
the  man  somewhat  contemptuously  from  his  mind. 

"Just  a  piker  crook,  I  guess,"  decided  the  Hawk. 
"I'd  like  to  have  found  out  though  how  many  more 
of  those  he's  got,  and  who  the  fool  was  that  let  an 
amateur  skate  like  that  loose  with  any  of  the  goods !" 

He  finished  his  meal,  paid  his  bill,  smiled  a  good- 
night to  old  Mother  Barrett,  walked  out  of  the  short- 
order  house,  and  made  his  way  over  to  the  station. 
Five  minutes  later,  having  purchased  a  magazine,  the 
Hawk,  with  a  ticket  in  his  pocket  for  a  station  a  num- 
ber of  miles  beyond  Burke's  Siding,  curled  himself 
up  with  his  pipe  on  a  seat  in  the  smoker  of  the  local. 

The  train  started,  and  the  Hawk  apparently  be- 
came immersed  in  his  magazine.  The  Hawk,  how- 
ever, though  he  turned  a  page"from  time  to  time, 
was  concerned  with  matters  very  far  removed  from 
the  printed  words  before  him.  The  game  to-night 
was  more  hazardous,  more  difficult,  and  for  a  vastly 
greater  stake  than  any  in  which  he  had  before  pitted 
his  wits  or  played  his  lone  hand  against  the  com- 
bined brains  of  the  Butcher,  his  fellows,  and  their 


THREADS  IN  THE  WEB 

unknown  leader,  who  collectively  were  referred  to 
by  the  papers  as — the  Wire  Devils. 

The  Hawk  tamped  down  the  ash  in  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe  with  a  wary  forefinger.  He,  the  Hawk,  ac- 
cording to  MacVightie,  was  the  leader  of  this  in- 
genious criminal  league !  It  was  very  complimentary 
of  MacVightie — very!  Between  MacVightie  and 
the  Wire  Devils  themselves,  he  was  a  personage 
much  sought  after!  MacVightie,  however,  was  not 
without  grounds  for  his  assertion  and  belief — the 
Hawk  grinned  pleasantly — he,  the  Hawk,  had  cer- 
tainly, and  for  some  time  back,  helped  himself  to 
the  leader's  share  of  the  spoils,  and  helped  himself 
very  generously! 

The  grin  died  away.  He  had  beaten  them  so  far, 
appropriated  from  under  their  very  noses  the  loot 
they  had  so  carefully  planned  to  obtain,  and  he  had 
mocked  and  taunted  them  contemptuously  in  the 
doing  of  it;  but  the  cold  fact  remained  that  luck 
sometimes  was  known  to  turn,  and  that  the  pitcher 
that  went  too  often  to  the  well  ran  the  risk  of  get- 
ting— smashed!  If  they  ever  caught  him,  his  life 
would  not  be  worth  an  instant's  purchase.  He  knew 
some  of  them,  and  he  knew  them  well  for  what  they 
were,  and  he  laboured  under  no  delusions  on  that 
score  !  The  Butcher,  for  example,  who  was  the  Num- 
ber One  of  the  message,  had  already  nearly  done 
for  him  once ;  and  the  Butcher  had  nothing  on  Num- 
ber Three,  who  was  the  Bantam,  or  on  Number 
Seven,  who  was  Whitie  Jim — or,  it  was  safe  to  pre- 
sume, on  any  of  the  others  that  he  had  not  yet  iden- 


122  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

tified — this  Number  Four  and  Number  Six,  for  in- 
stance, who  were  mentioned  in  the  cipher  message 
to-night.  And  how  many  more  were  there?  He 
did  not  know — except  that  there  was  the  Master 
Spider  of  them  all. 

The  Hawk  had  ceased  now  even  to  turn  cursorily 
the  pages  of  the  magazine.  He  was  staring  out  of 
the  window. 

"I  wonder,"  muttered  the  Hawk  grimly,  "when 
I'll  run  up  against  him?  And  who  he  is?  And  where 
the  head  office  is?" 

He  nodded  his  head  after  a  moment.  MacVightie 
had  called  the  turn.  The  Wire  Devils  formed  as 
powerful  and  dangerous  a  criminal  organisation  as 
had  probably  ever  existed  anywhere.  And  not  for 
very  long  would  they  put  all  their  resources  at  work 
to  pull  off  some  coup,  only  to  find  that  he,  the  Hawk, 
had  made  use  of  their  preparations  to  snatch  the 
prize  away  from  them;  they  were  much  more  likely 
to  put  all  their  resources  at  work — with  the  Hawk 
as  their  sole  objective  1 

The  Hawk's  lips  tightened.  He  might  under-es- 
timate,  but  he  could  not  exaggerate,  his  danger !  The 
man  in  the  seat  behind  him  might  be  one  of  them  for 
all  he  knew.  Somewhere,  hidden  away  in  his  web, 
at  the  end  of  a  telegraph  wire,  was  the  Master  Spider 
directing  the  operations;  and  there  must  be  very 
many  of  them — the  little  spiders — spread  all  over 
the  division.  Where  there  was  a  telegraph  sounder 
that  sounder  carried  the  messages,  the  plans,  the 
secret  orders  of  the  brain  behind  the  organisation; 


THREADS  IN  THE  WEB  123 

and  the  very  audaciousness  with  which  they  made 
themselves  free  of  the  railroad's  telegraph  system 
to  communicate  with  each  other  was  in  itself  a  guar- 
antee of  success.  If  one  of  their  messages  was  in- 
terf erred  with,  they  threatened  to  cut  the  wires; 
and  that  meant,  if  luckily  it  meant  no  more,  that 
train  operating  was  at  an  end  until  the  break  could 
be  located  and  repaired.  Were  they  tapping  the 
wire  somewhere?  What  chance  was  there  to  find 
out  where?  There  were  hundreds  of  old  splices  on 
the  wires.  Or,  if  found,  what  would  prevent  them 
tapping  the  wire  on  the  next  occasion  many  miles 
away?  Also  the  sources  of  information  that  they 
tapped  must  be  far-flung.  How,  for  instance,  unless 
they  too  had  a  uBud"  back  there  in  New  York,  did 
they  know  of  this  diamond  shipment  coming  through 
to-night? 

The  Hawk's  lips  grew  still  a  little  tighter.  His 
safety  so  far  had  depended  on  the  fact  that  he  pos- 
sessed the  key  to  their  cipher  messages,  which  not 
only  enabled  him  to  reap  where  they  had  sown,  but 
warned  him  of  any  move  they  might  make  against 
him.  But  it  was  becoming  increasingly  difficult  to 
intercept  those  messages.  He  had  MacVightie  to 
thank  for  that.  Where  before  he  had  only  to  crawl 
into  some  little  way-station  where  there  was  no  night 
operator,  MacVightie  now  had  every  one  of  those 
stations  securely  guarded.  Yes,  it  had  become  ex- 
ceedingly more  difficult!  If  only  he  could  find  out 
where  those  messages  emanated  from,  or  the  sys- 
tem in  force  for  receiving  them! 


THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  Hawk  slid  further  down  in  his  seat,  tossed  the 
magazine  to  one  side,  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes, 
and  appeared  to  sleep.  All  that  was  neither  here 
nor  there — to-night.  He  had  the  message  to-night — 
but  he  had  not  yet  got  that  twenty  thousand  dollars 
in  unset  stones!  He  would  perhaps  do  well,  now 
that  he  had  the  leisure,  to  give  the  details  of  that 
matter  a  little  more  critical  attention  than  they  had 
received  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  his  best 
chance  lay  in  the  three  miles  between  Burke's  Siding 
and  the  point  where  the  Butcher  and  his  men  planned 
to  hold  up  the  train.  According  to  the  message,  the 
implication  was  that  there  would  be  nobody  in  the 
express  car  at  that  time  except  a  drugged  messenger. 
And  now,  somehow,  he  did  not  quite  like  the  ap- 
pearance of  that.  It  seemed  a  little  queer.  What 
was  the  object  of  drugging  the  man  if  they  did  not 
take  immediate  advantage  of  it?  He  pondered  the 
problem  for  a  long  time.  No,  after  all,  it  was 
logical  enough — since  they  meant  to  remove  the 
safe  bodily.  There  evidently  was  not  a  specialised 
cracksman  amongst  them  who  had  lifted  his  profes- 
sion to  the  plane  of  art,  no  "knob-twirler"  such  as — 
well,  such  as  himself!  The' Hawk  opened  his  eyes 
sleepily  to  inspect  the  tips  of  his  carefully  manicured 
fingers.  Otherwise,  with  no  one  to  interfere  but  a 
drugged  messenger,  they  could  have  opened  the  safe, 
looted  xit,  and,  since  the  Fast  Mail  carried  only 
through  express  matter,  have  slipped  away  from  the 
car  at  the  first  stop,  with  no  one  being  the  wiser  un- 


THREADS  IN  THE  WEB  125 

til,  somewhere  up  the  line,  the  messenger  returned 
to  life  and  gave  the  alarm. 

Yes,  it  was  very  craftily  worked  out.  The  Master 
Spider  was  far  from  a  fool!  They  would  have  to 
"soup"  the  safe,  and  blow  it  open.  If  they  attempted 
that  while  the  train  was  en  route  they  ran  the  risk 
of  being  heard,  and  trapped  like  rats  in  the  car;  and 
if  they  were  heard,  even  if  they  managed  to  stop  the 
train  and  make  their  escape,  they  invited  instant  and 
definite  pursuit  on  the  spot.  The  reason  for  drug- 
ging the  express  messenger  became  quite  evident  now. 
If  the  man  were  already  helpless  when  they  held  up 
the  train,  they,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  assured 
their  access  to  an  otherwise  guarded  car  without 
danger  to  themselves,  and  without  danger  of  being 
balked  at  the  last  moment  of  their  reward — which 
the  messenger,  with  a  small  package  like  that,  might' 
easily  have  been  able  to  accomplish  if  he  were  a  game 
man.  He  could  have  opened  the  safe,  say,  the  in- 
stant the  first  alarm  came  as  they  tried  to  force  the 
car  door,  taken  out  the  package,  and  secreted  it  some- 
where. It  needed  only  the  nerve  after  that  to  defy 
them,  and  they  had  evidently  given  him  credit  for  it 
whether  he  possessed  it  or  not. 

Yes,  decidedly,  the  Master  Spider  was  no  fool  in 
the  spinning  of  his  web !  As  it  was,  the  safe,  which 
would  only  be  a  small  affair  anyhow,  would  disappear 
bodily;  and  between  the  point  where  the  train  was 
held  up  and  the  point  where  they  finally  left  the  en- 
gine and  express  car  there  would  be  a  distance  of  at 
least  ten  miles,  even  allowing  that  they  approached 


126  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

no  nearer  than  within  two  miles  of  Bradley,  the  first 
station  west  of  Burke's  Siding.  With  the  wires  cut 
and  the  coaches  of  the  Fast  Mail  stalled  three  miles 
out  of  Burke's,  considerable  time  must  elapse  before 
any  one  could  make  a  move  against  them;  and  even 
when  the  pursuit  finally  started,  MacVightie,  for  in- 
stance, would  be  confronted  with  that  somewhat  il- 
lusive stretch  of  ten  miles  in  which  to  decide  where 
the  pursuit  should  begin.  Ten  miles  was  some  little 
distance  I  MacVightie  would  be  quite  at  liberty  to 
make  his  guess,  and  there  was  the  chance,  with  the 
trifling  odds  of  some  few  odd  thousand  to  one 
against  it,  that  he  might  guess  right — unless  he 
guessed  that  the  safe  had  been  removed  at  the  point 
where  the  engine  and  car  were  finally  left,  in  which 
case  MacVightie  would  guess  wrong. 

If  the  Hawk  was  asleep,  he  was  perhaps  dream- 
ing— for  the  Hawk  smiled.  The  chances  were  just 
about  those  few  odd  thousand  to  one  that  MacVigh- 
tie would  guess  exactly  that  way — wrong.  Yes,  it 
was  an  exceedingly  neat  little  web  that  the  Master 
Spider  had  spun.  If  he,  the  Hawk,  were  permitted 
to  make  a  guess,  he  would  guess  that  the  safe  would 
never  be  found! 

His  mind  reverted  to  the  cipher  message.  The 
safe  was 'to  be  delivered  at  "five-mile  crossing." 
Where  that  was  the  Hawk  did  not  know — except 
that  it  must  necessarily  be  somewhere  between  the 
point  where  the  train  was  held  up  and  Bradley. 
However,  that  was  a  detail  with  which  he  need  hard- 
ly concern  himself.  Long  before  this  "five-mile 


THREADS  IN  THE  WEB 

crossing"  was  reached,  his  vest  pocket,  if  he  played 
in  luck,  would  be  very  comfortably  lined !  He  would 
enter  the  express  car  as  the  Fast  Mail  pulled  out  of 
Burke's  Siding,  trust  to  certain  long  and  intimate  ex- 
perience to  open  the  safe — and  get  off  the  train  as  it 
slowed  down  at  the  Butcher's  very  thoughtful  re- 
quest !  For  the  rest,  the  details — circumstances  must 
govern  there.  In  the  main,  that  would  be  his  plan. 

The  Hawk  "slept"  on.  Station  after  station  was 
passed.  His  mind  now  dealt  in  little  snatches  of 
thought.  There  was  MacVightie  and  the  police 
circular;  and  the  search  of  his  room  that  day;  and 
speculation  as  to  how  they  had  managed  to  drug  the 
express  messenger;  and  the  man  with  the  counter- 
feit ten-dollar  bill  in  old  Mother  Barrett's  short-or- 
der house;  and  the  little  old  woman  herself,  with 
her  shabby  clothes  and  her  tired,  gentle  face — and 
finally  the  Hawk  stirred,  glanced  at  his  watch,  and, 
as  the  train  whistled,  picked  up  his  magazine  and 
sauntered  down  the  cai  aisle  to  the  door. 

They  were  approaching  Burke's  Siding.  The 
Hawk  opened  the  door,  went  out  on  the  platform, 
and  descended  to  the  lowest  step.  The  train  slowed. 
A  water-tank  loomed  up,  receded — and  the  Hawk 
dropped  to  the  ground.  A  minute  later,  as  the  tail- 
lights  winked  by  and  came  to  a  stop  at  the  station  a 
short  distance  down  the  track,  he  had  made  his  way 
back  to  the  water-tank,  crossed  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  track,  and  stretched  himself  out  on  the  grass 
in  the  hollow  at  the  foot  of  the  embankment.  The 
Fast  Mail's  sole  excuse  for  a  stop  at  Burke's  Siding 


1*8  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

was  the  water-tank — which  would  bring  the  express 
car  to  a  halt  directly  in  front  of  the  spot  where  he 
now  lay. 

The  local  pulled  out,  and  racketed  away  into  the 
night.  The  tail-lights  vanished.  Silence  fell.  There 
was  only  the  chirping  of  the  insects  now,  and  the 
strange,  queer,  indefinable  medley  of  little  night- 
sounds.  Burke's  Siding  was  a  lonely  place.  There 
was  a  faint  yellow  gleam  from  the  station  windows, 
and  there  was  the  twinkle  of  the  switch  lights — no 
other  sign  of  life.  It  was  pitch  black — so  black  that 
the  Hawk  could  just  barely  distinguish  the  outline 
of  the  water-tank  across  the  track. 

"It's  a  nice  night,"  observed  the  Hawk  pleasantly 
to  himself.  "A  very  nice  night  1  It's  strange  how 
some  people  prefer  a  moonl" 


—  IX  — 

THE  LOOTING  OF  THE  FAST  MAIL 


1 


minutes  went  by,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty 
of  them — a  half  hour — and  then,  from 
far  down  the  track,  hoarse  through  the 
night,  came  the  scream  of  a  whistle.  From 
his  pocket  the  Hawk  took  out  his  diminutive  flash- 
light, thin  as  a  pencil.  It  might  have  been  the  wink- 
ing of  a  firefly,  as  he  played  it  on  the  dial  of  his 
watch. 

"On  the  dot!"  murmured  the  Hawk.  "Some  train 
— the  Fast  Mail !  I  guess,  though,  she'll  be  a  little 
late,  at  that,  to-night — when  she  pulls  into  Selkirk!" 
A  roar  and  rumble  was  in  the  night  again,  in- 
creasing steadily  in  volume.  Down  the  right  of  way, 
in  the  distance,  a  flash  of  light  stabbed  through  the 
black.  It  grew  brighter  and  brighter.  The  Hawk, 
wary  of  the  spread  of  the  powerful  electric  head- 
light, edged  further  away  from  the  trackside.  And 
now  the  rails  gleamed  like  polished  silver — and  the 
water-tank  stood  up  out  of  the  darkness,  a  thing  of 
monstrous  size.  There  was  the  hiss  of  steam,  the) 
rasp  and  grind  of  the  setting  brakes,  the  glinting 
rays  from  the  windows  of  a  long  string  of  coaches 
that  trailed  back  to  the  station  platform,  and  a  big 

129 


ISO  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

ten-wheeler,  like  some  human  thirsty  thing,  was  pant- 
ing beside  the  water-tank. 

The  engineer,  with  his  torch,  swung  from  the 
gangway  for  an  oil  around.  There  was  the  creak  of 
the  descending  spout,  the  rush  of  water,  and,  sil- 
houetted against  the  water-tank,  the  Hawk  could 
make  out  the  fireman  standing  on  the  back  of  the 
tender.  And  now,  poking  with  his  long-spouted  oil 
can,  weirdly  swallowed  up  in  the  darkness  at  inter- 
vals as  he  thrust  the  torch  far  in  under  the  big  ma- 
chine, the  engineer  moved  slowly  along  the  side  of 
the  engine,  and  finally  disappeared  around  the  end 
of  the  pilot. 

The  Hawk  stole  forward  closer  to  the  track  again, 
his  eyes  on  the  fireman,  who,  now  that  the  engi- 
neer's torch  was  on  the  other  side,  was  more  sharply 
outlined  than  before.  Came  then  the  swish  and 
gush  of  water  as  it  overflowed,  the  spout  banged 
back  against  the  water-tank,  and  the  fireman  scram- 
bled back  over  the  tender  into  the  cab.  It  was  the 
moment  the  Hawk  had  been  waiting  for.  Swiftly, 
but  still  crawling  as  a  safeguard  against  being  seen 
by  any  of  the  train  crew  in  the  rear,  he  moved  up 
the  embankment,  and  in  an  instant  had  swung  him- 
self up  between  the  tender  and  the  forward  door  of 
the  express  car.  There  was  no  platform  here,  of 
course,  but  the  end  beam  of  the  car,  making  a  sort 
of  wide  threshold,  gave  him  ample  room  on  which 
to  stand. 

The  roar  of  escaping  steam  drowned  out  all  other 
sounds;  the  back  of  the  tender  hid  him  from  any 


THE  LOOTING  OF  THE  FAST  MAIL    131 

chance  of  observation  from  the  cab.  He  tried  the 
door  cautiously.  It  was  locked,  of  course — there 
were  twenty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stones  in 
the  safe  inside !  The  Hawk  felt  carefully  over  the 
lock  with  his  fingers,  classifying  it  in  the  darkness, 
as  it  were,  by  the  sense  of  touch,  and  produced  from 
his  pocket  his  bunch  of  skeleton  keys.  He  inserted 
one  of  the  keys,  worked  with  it  for  a  moment,  then 
shook  his  head,  and  selected  another.  This  time  he 
felt  the  lock-bolt  slide  back.  The  train  was  jerking 
into  motion  now.  He  exchanged  his  keys  for  his 
automatic,  turned  the  knob  softly,  opened  the  door 
an  inch,  and  listened.  Even  the  Wire  Devils  were 
not  infallible,  and  if  by  any  chance  the  mes- 
senger  

The  Hawk  whistled  low  and  contentedly  under 
his  breath.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  inter- 
ior of  the  car — and  now  he  slipped  quickly  through 
the  door,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

A  quarter  length  down  the  car,  in  the  aisle  made 
by  the  express  packages  which  were  piled  high  on 
either  side,  the  messenger,  a  young  man  of  perhaps 
twenty-two,  was  huddled,,  apparently  unconscious, 
in  his  chair.  In  a  flash  the  Hawk  was  down  the  car, 
and  bending  sharply  over  the  other.  The  man  sat 
in  a  helpless,  sagging  attitude ;  he  was  breathing  heav- 
ily, and  his  head,  hanging  forward  and  a  little  to 
one  side,  swayed  limply  with  the  motion  of  the  car. 
There  was  no  question  as  to  the  messenger's  condi- 
tion— he  was  drugged,  and  well  drugged.  From  the 
man,  the  Hawk's  eyes  travelled  to  a  sort  of  desk, 


182  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

or  ledge,  built  out  from  the  side  of  the  car,  and 
topped  by  a  pigeonholed  rack  stuffed  with  express 
forms  and  official-looking  manila  envelopes.  On  the 
desk  was  a  small  leather  satchel  containing  some 
lunch,  and  a  bottle  of  what  was  evidently  cold  tea, 
now  but  barely  a  quarter  full;  and,  as  though  to  sup- 
ply further  evidence  that  the  man  had  succumbed 
in  the  midst  of  his  meal,  a  little  to  one  side  lay  a 
meat  sandwich,  half  eaten. 

The  Hawk  nodded  quietly  to  himself,  as  again 
his  eyes  shifted — this  time  to  a  small  safe,  about 
three  feet  square,  that  stood  beneath  the  desk.  It 
was  quite  easy  to  understand  now.  The  Wire  Dev- 
ils had  only  to  ascertain  the  fact  that  it  was  the  mes- 
senger's habit  to  eat  his  lunch  at  a  certain  time, 
choose  the  point  of  attack  on  the  line  to  correspond 
therewith,  and  see  that  a  sufficient  quantity  of  knock- 
out drops  was  introduced  into  the  cold  tea — not  a 
very  weighty  undertaking  for  the  Wire  Devils! 

Well,  it  was  a  bit  rough  on  the  boy — the  Hawk 
was  kneeling  now  in  front  of  the  safe — but  he,  the 
Hawk,  was  greatly  indebted  to  the  Wire  Devils! 
Twenty  thousand  dollars  was  a  snug  little  sum — 
quite  a  snug  little  sum ! 

The  figure  in  the  chair,  with  swaying  head, 
breathed  stertorously;  there  was  the  pound,  quick  in 
its  tempo,  of  the  trucks  beating  at  the  rail  joints; 
the  give-and-take  of  the  car  in  protesting  little 
creaks ;  and,  over  all,  a  muffled  roar  as  the  Fast  Mail 
tore  through  the  night — but  the  Hawk  heard  none 
of  this.  His  ear  was  pressed  close  against  the  face 


THE  LOOTING  OF  THE  FAST  MAIL    133 

of  the  safe  listening  for  the  tumblers'  fall,  as  his 
fingers  twirled  the  dial  knob. 

After  a  little  while  the  Hawk  spoke  aloud. 

"Left,  twenty-eight,  one  quarter  .  .  .  two  right, 
fourteen  .  .  .  two  left,  eighteen,  one-half,"  he  said. 

He  straightened  up,  swung  the  handle  of  the  safe 
— and  a  dismayed,  anxious  look  flashed  across  his 
face.  There  was  not  much  time,  very  little  time — 
and  he  had  missed  it!  How  far  along  those  three 
miles  from  Burke's  Siding  to  where  the  Butcher  was 
waiting  had  the  train  already  come? 

He  tried  again,  coolly,  methodically — and  again 
he  missed. 

"I  guess  I'm  out  of  practice  to  fall  down  on  a  tin 
box  like  this!"  he  muttered  grimly.  "But  the  first 
two  are  right,  that's  sure — it's  the  last  turn  that's 
wrong  somewhere.  Give  me  another  minute  or 
two" — he  was  twirling  the  dial  knob  with  deft,  quick 
fingers  once  more — "that's  all  I  ask,  and " 

A  sudden  jolt  flung  him  forward  against  the  safe. 
Came  the  scream  of  the  whistle,  the  screech  of  the 
tight-set  brakes,  the  bump,  and  jerk,  and  pound,  and 
grind  of  the  flying  train  coming  to  an  emergency 
stop.  The  limp  form  of  the  messenger,  sliding 
down,  was  almost  doubled  over  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

In  an  instant  the  Hawk  had  recovered  his  balance, 
and,  his  face  set  like  iron,  his  jaws  clamped  hard,  he 
snatched  at  the  knob,  and  with  desperate  haste  now 
made  another  attempt.  There  were  a  few  seconds 
left,  a  few  seconds  before  the  train  would  come  fi- 


134        ,  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

nally  to  a  standstill  and — no,  they  were  gone  now, 
those  seconds — and  he  had  missed  again ! 

His  automatic  was  in  his  hand  as  he  stood  up.  It 
was  no  longer  a  question  of  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  unset  diamonds — it  was  a  question  of 
his  life.  There  was  a  bitter  smile  on  his  lips,  as  he 
ran  for  the  forward  door.  It  looked  as  though  the 
pitcher  had  at  last  gone  once  too  often  to  the  well! 
The  tram  had  stopped  now.  He  reached  the  door, 
and  opened  it  guardedly  a  little  way.  A  great  red 
flare  from  somewhere  ahead  lighted  up  the  night. 
He  heard  and  recognised  the  Butcher's  voice,  menac- 
ing, raucous,  punctuated  with  vicious  oaths : 

"Get  out  of  that  cab,  and  get  out  damned  quick  I 
Down  you  come — jump  now!  Now,  boys,  run  'em 
back,  and  keep  firing  down  the  length  of  the  train 
as  you  go;  and  if  these  guys  don't  run  faster  than 
you  do,  let  'em  have  it  in  the  back!  Beat  it  now — 
beat  it  like  hell !  I'll  pull  out  the  minute  you're  un- 
coupled. You  two  grab  the  rear  end  as  she  moves, 
there's  room  enough  for  you,  and  you  can  bust  in 
the  door,  and " 

A  fusilade  of  shots  rang  out.  Flashes  cut  the 
black.  The  Butcher's  two  companions,  evidently 
driving  the  engineer  and  fireman  before  them,  were 
coming  on  the  run  along  the  trackside  from  the  cab. 
The  Hawk  retreated  back  a  step,  and  closed  the  car 
door.  He  heard  the  men  rush  past  outside.  The 
fusilade  seemed  to  redouble  in  intensity;  and  now, 
added  to  it,  were  shouts  and  yells  from  the  rear  of 


THE  LOOTING  OF  THE  FAST  MAIL    135 

the  train  itself,  and — if  he  were  not  mistaken — an- 
swering shots. 

His  hand  on  the  doorknob,  he  stood  waiting 
tensely.  With  the  Butcher  on  guard  out  there  in 
front,  it  would  have  been  equivalent  to  suicide  to 
have  opened  the  door  again  until  he  knew  the  other 
was  back  in  the  cab — against  the  background  of  the 
lighted  interior  he  would  have  made  a  most  excel- 
lent mark  for  the  Butcher ! 

His  eyes  swept  past  the  huddled  form  of  the  young 
messenger  in  the  chair,  and  fixed  speculatively  on  the 
safe.  He  nodded  suddenly,  grimly.  Twenty  thou- 
sand dollars!  Well,  he  wasn't  beaten  yet — not  till 
he  threw  down  his  own  hand  of  his  own  accord — > 
not  till  he  lost  sight  of  the  safe  for  keeps ! 

Over  the  shouts  and  revolver  shots  came  the  sharp, 
vicious  hiss  of  the  air-hose,  as  it  was  uncoupled;  and 
then,  with  a  violent  jerk,  the  car  started  forward, 
as  the  Butcher  evidently  whipped  the  throttle  open. 
And,  coincidently,  there  was  a  smash  upon  the  rear 
door — and  the  Hawk  opened  the  forward  door  and 
slipped  out  again. 

A  din  infernal  was  in  his  ears.  Like  a  maddened 
thing  under  the  Butcher's  unscientific  spur,  the  big 
ten-wheeler  was  coughing  the  sparks  heavenward  in 
a  volleying  stream,  while  the  huge  drivers  raced 
like  pinwheels  in  another  shower  of  sparks  as  the; 
tires  sought  to  bite  and  hold.  And  now  the  rear 
door  of  the  car  crashed  inward;  the  shots  came  fast 
as  a  gatling,  and  thouts,  screams  and  yells  added 
their  quota  to  the  uproar. 


136  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  Hawk,  crouched  by  the  door,  moved  sud- 
denly to  one  side,  as  he  caught  the  dull,  ominous  spat 
of  a  bullet  against  one  of  the  panels.  The  train  crew 
and  those  of  the  passengers  who  were  armed  were, 
very  obviously,  keeping  up  a  running  fight  from  the 
stalled  section  of  the  train,  and  pumping  their  bul- 
lets through  the  broken  rear  door  and  up  the  aisle 
of  the  express  car  as  long  as  they  could  hold  the 
range;  and,  from  within,  he  could  distinguish  the 
duller,  muffled  reports  of  the  Butcher's  confederates 
firing  in  return,  preventing  any  attempt  being  made 
to  rush  the  rear  of  the  car. 

And  then  the  sounds  began  to  recede  and  die  away. 
The  men  inside  the  car  ceased  firing,  and  he  could 
hear  them  now  moving  the  safe  out  from  the  side  of 
the  car.  It  seemed  as  though  a  very  long  interval 
of  time  had  been  consumed  in  the  hold-up;  but  in 
reality  he  knew  it  had  been  little  more  than  a  matter 
of  seconds — the  time  it  had  taken  the  two  men  to 
run  the  length  of  the  car,  uncouple  it,  and  leap  on 
the  rear  end.  The  fight  afterwards  could  hardly 
count,  for  once  the  express  car  began  to  pull  away 
the  thing  was  done. 

They  were  moving  fast  now,  and  with  every  in- 
stant the  speed  was  increasing.  The  Hawk  clutched 
at  the  handrail,  and  lowered  himself  to  the  iron 
foot-rung  which,  on  the  express  car,  served  in  lieu 
of  steps.  Here,  having  chosen  the  opposite  side  to 
that  of  the  Butcher  at  the  throttle  in  the  cab,  he  ran 
no  risk  of  being  observed.  This  "five-mile  cross- 
ing," wherever  it  was,  promised  to  concern  him  a 


great  deal  more  than  he  had  anticipated !  He  leaned 
out,  and  clung  there,  staring  ahead. 

The  big  ten-wheeler  was  swaying  and  staggering 
like  a  drunken  thing;  the  rush  of  the  wind  whipped 
at  his  face;  a  deafening  roar  sang  in  his  ears.  ,  The 
Fast  Mail  usually  ran  fast;  but  the  Butcher  was  run- 
ning like  a  dare-devil,  and  the  bark  of  the  exhaust 
had  quickened  now  into  a  single  full-toned  note  deep 
as  thunder. 

With  a  sort  of  grim  placidity,  the  Hawk  clung 
to  the  lurching  rail.  Far  ahead  along  the  right  of 
way,  a  shaft  of  light  riven  through  walls  of  black- 
ness, played  the  headlight.  Shadowy  objects,  trees 
that  loomed  up  for  an  instant  and  were  gone,  showed 
on  the  edge  of  the  wavering  ray.  They  tore  through 
a  rock  cut,  and,  in  the  confined  space  and  in  the  frac- 
tion of  a  second  it  took  to  traverse  it,  the  roar  was 
metamorphosed  into  an  explosion.  And  then  sud- 
denly, as  though  by  magic,  the  headlight  shot  off  at 
a  tangent,  and  the  glistening  lines  of  steel,  that  were 
always  converging  but  never  meeting,  were  gone,  and 
the  ray  fell  full  upon  a  densely  wooded  tract  where 
leaves  and  foliage  became  a  soft  and  wonderful 
shade  of  green  under  the  artificial  light.  The  Hawk 
braced  himself — and  just  in  time.  The  ten-wheeler, 
unchecked,  swung  the  curve  with  a  mighty  lurch,  off 
drivers  fairJy  lifted  from  the  rails.  She  seemed  to 
hang  there  hesitantly  for  a  breathless  instant,  then 
with  a  crunch,  staggering,  settled  back  and  struck 
into  her  stride  again. 

The  thunder  of  the  exhaust  ceased  abruptly,  and 


138  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  speed  began  to  slacken.  The  Butcher  had  slam- 
med the  throttle  shut.  At  the  end  of  the  head- 
light's ray,  that  was  straight  along  the  track  again, 
a  red  light  flashed  up  suddenly  three  times  and  van- 
ished. The  Hawk  leaned  farther  out,  tense  now, 
straining  his  eyes  ahead.  It  was  evidently  Number 
Four  and  Number  Seven  signalling  from  "five-mile 
crossing." 

The  Butcher  began  to  check  with  the  "air."  And 
now,  in  the  headlight's  glare,  the  distance  short- 
ened, the  Hawk  could  discern  a  large  wagon,  drawn 
by  two  horses,  that  appeared  to  be  backed  up  close 
to  the  right-hand  side  of  the  track.  Two  forms 
seemed  to  be  tugging  at  the  horses,  which  equally 
seemed  to  be  plunging  restively — and  then,  being  on 
the  wrong  side  of  the  car,  the  angle  of  vision  nar- 
rowed and  he  could  see  no  more. 

The  Hawk  turned  now — his  eyes  on  the  door  of 
the  car.  There  was  a  possibility,  a  little  more  than 
a  possibility,  that  the  men  inside,  knowing  that  they 
had  reached  their  destination,  would  come  out  this 
way.  No — he  had  only  to  keep  hidden  from  the 
men  out  there  with  the  wagon  until  the  car  stopped 
— the  men  within  were  sliding  back  the  side  door. 
He  swung  himself  still  farther  out  on  the  foot-rung; 
then,  curving  back  with  the  aid  of  the  handrail,  flat- 
tened himself  against  the  side  of  the  car. 

They  were  close  up  to  the  wagon  now,  and  he 
could  hear  voices  cursing  furiously  at  the  horses,  as 
the  frightened  animals  stamped  and  pawed.  And 


THE  LOOTING  OF  THE  FAST  MAIL    139 

then  the  car  bumped  and  jerked  to  a  standstill,  and 
the  Butcher  was  bawling  from  the  cab : 

"Take  the  horses  out,  you  blamed  fools,  and  tie 
'em  back  there  on  the  road  a  bit  till  we're  gone! 
We'd  have  a  sweet  time  loading  the  wagon  with 
them  doing  the  tango  every  second !  Take  'em  out ! 
We'll  back  the  wagon  up  against  the  car." 

The  Hawk  lowered  himself  silently  to  the  ground 
— to  find  that  the  car  had  come  to  a  stop  directly  over 
a  road  crossing.  The  men  in  the  car  had  joined  their 
voices  with  the  Butcher's,  and  in  the  confusion  now 
the  Hawk  slipped  quickly  along  the  side  of  the  car, 
stole  around  the  rear  end,  and  from  that  point  of 
vantage  stood  watching  the  Butcher  and  his  men  at 
work. 

He  could  see  quite  plainly,  thanks  to  the  light 
from  the  car's  wide-open  side  door  that  flooded  the 
scene.  The  horses  had  been  unharnessed,  and  were 
being  led  away  along  the  road.  One  of  the  men  in 
the  car  jumped  to  the  ground,  as  the  Butcher  called 
out,  and  together  they  backed  the  wagon  close  up 
against  the  car  doorway;  and  then,  presently,  the 
men  who  had  accompanied  the  horses,  one  carry- 
ing a  lantern,  came  running  back.  The  Hawk's 
eyes,  from  a  general  and  comprehensive  survey  of 
the  scene,  fixed  on  the  man  who  until  now  had  not 
left  the  car,  but  who  had  now  sprung  down  into  the 
wagon  and  was  running  a  short  plank,  to  be  used 
as  a  skid  evidently,  up  to  the  threshold  of  the  car 
door,  which  was  a  little  above  the  level  of  the  wagon. 
The  light  shone  full  in  the  man's  face. 


140  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"Number  Six — Crusty  Kline!"  confided  the 
Hawk  softly  to  himself.  "I'm  glad  to  know  that. 
The  last  time  I  chummed  with  Crusty  was  back  in 
little  old  Sing  Sing.  Guess  he  got  out  for  good  be- 
haviour— thought  he  was  elected  for  five  spaces 
yet!" 

Crusty  spoke  now,  as  he  jumped  back  into  the 
car. 

"Look  here,  Butcher,  I'm  telling  you  again,  this 
guy  in  here's  in  pretty  bad  shape." 

"Never  mind  about  that!"  replied  the  Butcher 
roughly.  "Get  the  safe  out!  All  hands  now! 
We've  got  no  time  to  monkey  with  him.  He'll  come 
around  all  right,  I  guess — anyway,  it's  none  of  our 
lookout!" 

The  men  were  bunched  together  now,  three  in  the 
doorway  of  the  car  and  two  in  the  wagon,  the  safe 
between  them.  The  Hawk  was  studying  one  of  the 
two  who  stood  in  the  wagon.  One  was  Whitie  Jim, 
as  he  already  knew,  but  the  other  had  had  his  back 
half  turned,  and  the  Hawk  had  not  been  able  to  see 
his  face.  The  safe  slid  down  the  plank,  and  was 
levered  and  pushed  forward  into  the  middle  of  the 
wagon. 

"French  Pete!"  said  the  Hawk  suddenly  and  as 
softly  as  before,  as  the  man  he  had  been  watching 
straightened  up  and  turned  around.  "Say,  I  guess 
Sing  Sing's  gone  out  of  business — or  else  somebody 
left  the  door  open!" 

But  if  the  Hawk's  words  were  indicative  of  a 
facetious  mood,  his  actions  were  not.  There  was  a 


THE  LOOTING  OF  THE  FAST  MAIL    141J 

sort  of  dawning  inspiration  in  the  dark,  narrowed 
eyes;  and  the  strong  jaw,  as  it  was  outthrust,  drew 
his  lips  into  a  grim,  hard  smile.  They  were  spread- 
ing a  huge  tarpaulin  over  the  wagon  and  safe — and 
abruptly  the  Hawk  drew  back,  dropped  to  his  hands 
and  knees,  crawled  along  the  trackside  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  car  again  until  almost  opposite  the 
wagon,  and  there  lay  flat  and  motionless  at  the  side 
of  the  road.  There  was  a  chance  yet,  still  a  chance, 
a  very  good  chance — for  that  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  unset  stones. 

"All  right,  now  I"  It  was  the  Butcher's  voice. 
"Pull  her  away  a  few  feet  into  the  clear!"  The 
wagon  creaked  and  rattled.  "That's  enough !  Now 
get  a  mo*e  on — everybody!" 

Steps  crunched  along  the  trackside — the  Butcher 
and  his  two  companions  obviously  making  for  the 
cab — and  a  moment  later  came  the  cough  of  the  en- 
gine's exhaust,  and  the  express  car  began  to  glide 
past  the  spot  where  the  Hawk  lay. 

The  Hawk  raised  himself  cautiously  on  his  el- 
bows. Two  dark  forms  and  a  bobbing  lantern  were 
already  speeding  toward  where  the  horses  had  been 
left.  The  Hawk  crawled  forward,  crossed  the  track 
— and  paused.  The  engine  and  express  car  were 
fast  disappearing  in  the  distance;  the  lantern  glim- 
mered amongst  the  trees  at  the  side  of  the  road  a 
good  hundred  yards  away. 

There  was  no  shadow  to  fall  across  the  back  of 
the  wagon. 

"I  said  it  was  a  nice  night,  and  that  it  was  strange 


142  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

how  some  people  preferred  a  moon!"  observed  the 
Hawk  cheerfully — and,  lifting  the  end  of  the  tar- 
paulin, he  swung  noiselessly  under  it  into  the  wagon, 
and  stretched  himself  out  beside  the  safe. 


1 


—  X  — 

THE  THIRD  PARTY 

Hawk  felt  upward  with  his  hand  over 
the  safe.  It  was  faced,  he  found,  toward 
the  rear  of  the  wagon.  This  necessitated 
a  change  in  his  own  position.  He  listen- 
ed tensely.  They  were  coming  back  with  the  horses 
now,  but  they  were  still  quite  a  little  way  off.  He 
shifted  quickly  around  until  his  head  and  shoulders 
were  in  front  of  the  safe. 

"It  was  the  last  turn  of  the  combination  that  I 
fell  down  on,  though  I  don't  see  how  it  happened !" 
muttered  the  Hawk. 

He  felt  above  his  head  again,  this  time  rubbing 
his  fingers  critically  over  the  tarpaulin — and  then 
the  diminutive  little  flashlight  winked,  winked  again 
as  it  played  around  him,  and  finally  held  steadily  on 
the  nickel  dial.  There  were  no  inadvertent  open- 
ings, and,  particularly,  no  holes  in  the  tarpaulin,  and 
the  texture  of  the  tarpaulin  was  a  guarantee  that  the 
tiny  rays  of  light  would  not  show  through. 

They  were  harnessing  the  horses  into  the  wagon 
now.  The  Hawk,  in  a  somewhat  cramped  position, 
due  to  the  wagon's  narrow  width,  his  legs  twisted  at 
right  angles  to  his  body  as  he  lay  on  his  back,  reached 

143 


144  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

up  and  began  to  twirl  the  dial  knob  slowly  and  with 
painstaking  care. 

"Left,  twenty-eight,  one  quarter,"  murmured  the 

Hawk;  and,  a  moment  later :  "Two  right,  four " 

The  Hawk  swore  earnestly  under  his  breath.  The 
jolt  of  the  wagon,  coming  unexpectedly  as  it  started 
forward,  had  caused  him  to  spin  the  knob  too  far 
around. 

It  was  hot,  stifling  hot,  under  the  heavy  tarpaulin, 
that,  slanting  downward  from  the  little  safe,  lay  al- 
most against  his  face.  A  bead  of  sweat  had  gathered 
on  his  forehead.  He  brushed  it  away,  and  began 
again  to  work  at  the  dial.  It  was  more  difficult  now 
— the  wagon  bumped  infernally.  And  as  he  worked, 
he  could  hear  the  muffled  clatter  of  the  horses'  hoofs, 
and  occasionally  the  voices  of  the  two  men  on  the 
seat. 

And  then  suddenly  the  Hawk's  fingers  travelled 
from  the  dial  knob  to  the  handle.  Had  he  got  it 
this  time,  or — yes!  The  handle  swung  easily — 
there  was  a  low  metallic  thud — the  bolt  had  slipped 
back  to  the  end  of  its  grooves.  The  safe  was  un- 
locked ! 

"Twenty  thousand  dollars!"  said  the  Hawk  very 
softly — and,  without  the  slightest  sound,  he  edged 
his  body  backwards  to  afford  space  for  the  swing  of 
the  opening  door.  "Twenty  thousand  doll " 

The  word  died,  half  uttered,  on  the  Hawk's  lips. 
The  flashlight  was  illuminating  the  interior  of  the 
safe.  On  the  bottom  lay  a  single,  crisp,  ten-dollar 
counterfeit  note,  over  the  face  of  which  was  scrawled 


THE  THIRD  PARTY  145 

in  ink — 'With  the  Hawk's  compliments!"  Other- 
wise the  safe  was  empty. 

For  a  moment,  like  a  man  dazed,  he  stared  at  the 
counterfeit  note.  He  could  not  seem  to  believe  his 
eyes.  Empty — the  safe  was  empty!  The  diamonds 
were  gone — gone !  Gone — and  these  poor  fools 
were  driving  an  empty  safe  to  the  Master  Spider — 
and  another  poor  fool,  with  dropped  jaw,  was  star- 
ing, gaping  like  an  imbecile,  into  one !  And  then,  a 
grip  upon  himself  again,  he  laughed  low,  grimly,  un- 
pleasantly. "With  the  Hawk's  compliments  I"  He 
had  sent  a  bill  like  that  once  to  MacVightie  inscribed 
— "With  the  Hawk's  compliments!"  This  was  very 
neat,  very  clever  of — somebody.  Of  somebody — 
who  must  have  known  what  the  Wire  Devils  were 
up  to  to-night!  There  would  be  no  doubt  in  the 
minds  of  the  Wire  Devils,  who  would  have  heard 
of  that  little  episode  with  MacVightie,  but  that  the 
Hawk  had  again  forestalled  them,  and  left  them  a 
ten-dollar  counterfeit  bill  in  exchange  for — twenty 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  unset  diamonds !  Only  it 
was  this  somebody,  and  not  he,  the  Hawk,  who  was 
twenty  thousand  dollars  the  richer  for  it! 

He  reached  in,  picked  up  the  bill  to  put  it  in  his 
pocket — and  suddenly  laid  it  back  again,  and  closed 
and  locked  the  safe.  Why  deprive  the  Master  Spi- 
der of  a  little  joy;  and,  besides,  it  would  carry  a 
message  not  perhaps  so  erroneous  after  all — for,  in 
a  flash,  logically,  indisputably,  apparently  impossible 
though  it  appeared  to  be  on  the  surface,  he  knew 
who  that  somebody  was.  The  shelving  of  the  theft 


146  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

to  the  Hawk's  shoulders  would  have  defeated  its  own 
object  unless  the  theft  were  committed  and  discov- 
ered on  this  particular  division  of  the  railroad  where 
the  Hawk  and,  incidentally,  his  supposed  gang  of 
desperadoes  were  known  to  be  operating.  The  mes- 
senger certainly  had  not  been  in  a  drugged  condition 
when  he  went  on  duty,  and,  since  it  was  only  reason- 
able to  assume  that  he  would  have  satisfied  himself 
everything  was  all  right  at  that  time,  it  was  evident, 
as  he  had  given  no  alarm,  that  the  contents  of  the 
safe  had  been  intact  when  he  took  charge — whether 
as  a  "through"  man  in  New  York,  or  at  the  eastern 
terminus  of  the  road,  or  at  the  last  divisional  point 
— it  did  not  matter  which.  The  robbery,  then,  had 
been  committed  while  the  messenger  was  present  in 
the  car — and  it  had  been  committed  on  this  division. 
The  safe  had  not  been  forced,  it  showed  not  the 
slightest  sign  of  violence — it  had  been  opened  on 
the  combination.  Some  one  then,  an  expert  safe- 
worker,  in  the  first  stages  of  the  messenger's 
drugged  condition,  had  happened  into  the  car  just 
ahead  of  him,  the  Hawk,  and  had  done  exactly  what 
he,  the  Hawk,  had  intended  to  do? 

"No,"  said  the  Hawk.  "No,  I  guess  not."  He 
was  wriggling  noiselessly  backward,  and  his  feet 
were  hanging  out  now  over  the  end  of  the  wagon. 
"No — coincidences  like  that  don't  happen — not  very 
often!"  The  Hawk's  head  and  shoulders  were  still 
under  the  tarpaulin,  but  his  feet  now  could  just  feel 
the  ground  beneath  them.  "I  guess,"  said  the  Hawk, 
as  he  suddenly  withdrew  his  head,  and,  crouching 


THE  THIRD  PARTY  147 

low,  ran  a  few  steps  with  the  wagon,  then  dropped 
full  length  in  the  road,  "I  guess  it's — the  third 
party." 

The  wagon  disappeared  in  the  darkness.  The 
Hawk  rose,  and,  turning,  broke  into  a  run  back 
along  the  road. 

He  had  been  longer  in  the  wagon  than  he  had 
thought — it  took  him  ten  minutes  to  regain  the  rail- 
road tracks. 

Here,  without  pause,  still  running,  he  kept  on 
along  the  right  of  way — but  there  was  a  hard  twist 
to  his  lips,  and  the  clenching  of  his  fists  was  not 
wholly  due  to  runner's  "form."  How  far  had  the 
Butcher  taken  the  car  before  deserting  it?  A  mile? 
Two  miles — three?  He  could  not  run  three  miles 
under  half  an  hour,  and  that  would  be  fast  over  rail- 
road ties !  How  long  would  it  be  before  the  train 
crew  of  the  stalled  Mail  got  back  to  Burke's  Siding 
and  managed  somehow,  in  spite  of  the  cut  wires,  to 
give  the  alarm — or  how  long  before  the  dispatcher 
at  Selkirk,  with  the  Fast  Mail  reported  "out"  at 
Burke's  Siding  and  no  "O.  S."  from  Bradley,  would 
smell  a  rat?  It  would  take  time  after  that,  of  course, 
before  anything  could  be  done ;  but,  at  best,  the  mar- 
gin left  for  him  was  desperately  narrow. 

He  ran  on  and  on;  his  eyes,  grown  accustomed  to 
the  darkness,  enabling  him  to  pick  out  the  ties  with 
a  fair  degree  of  accuracy.  There  was  not  a  sound 
save  that  of  his  own  footsteps.  He  stopped  for 
breath  again  and  again;  and  again  and  again  ran 
on  at  top  speed.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had  run, 


148  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

not  three  miles,  but  six,  when  finally,  far  ahead,  he 
caught  a  glow  of  light.  The  Butcher  and  his  con- 
federates had  evidently  not  taken  the  trouble  to 
close  the  side  door  of  the  carl 

Instinctively,  the  Hawk,  in  caution,  slowed  his 
pace — and  the  next  instant,  smiling  pityingly  at  him- 
self for  the  act,  ran  on  the  faster.  The  Butcher  and 
the  other  two  would  long  since  have  made  their 
getaway!  There  was  only  the  messenger — and  the 
messenger  was  drugged.  That  was  all  that  need 
concern  him  now — the  messenger — to  find  some  way 
to  rouse  the  man  so  that  he  could  talk. 

The  Hawk  reached  the  car,  ran  along  the  side  to 
the  open  door — and  stood  suddenly  still.  And  then, 
with  a  low,  startled  cry,  he  swung  himself  up  and 
through  the  doorway,  and  running  forward,  knelt 
beside  a  huddled  form  on  the  floor.  It  was  the  mes- 
senger, sprawled  on  his  face  now,  motionless,  and  it 
was  no  longer  a  case  of  being  drugged — the  man 
had  been  shot!  There  was  a  dark,  ugly  pool  on 
the  flooring,  and  a  thin  red  stream  had  trickled 
away  in  a  zigzag  course  along  one  of  the  planks. 
The  Hawk's  lips  were  tight.  The  Butcher's  workl 
But  why?  Why?  Yes!  Yes,  he  understood!  The 
Butcher,  too,  in  some  way  had  discovered  that  the 
messenger  was — the  third  party ! 

The  boy — he  was  even  more  of  a  boy  now  in 
appearance,  it  seemed  to  the  Hawk,  with  his  ashen 
face  and  colourless  lips — the  boy  moaned  a  little, 
and,  as  the  Hawk  lifted  him  up,  opened  his  eyes. 


THE  THIRD  PARTY  149 

The  Hawk  produced  a  flask,  and  forced  a  few  drops 
between  the  other's  lips. 

"Listen!"  he  said  distinctly.  "Try  and  under- 
stand what  I  am  saying.  Did  they  get  the  diamonds 
from  you  after  they  shot  you?" 

The  boy's  eyes  widened  with  a  quick,  sudden  fear. 
Perhaps  the  drug  had  begun  to  wear  off — perhaps  it 
was  the  wound  and  the  loss  of  blood  that  had  cleared 
his  brain. 

"The  diamonds?"  he  faltered. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hawk  grimly.  "The  diamonds! 
You  took  them.  Did  you  tell  those  men  where  they 
were?" 

"It's — it's  a  lie  I"  The  boy  seemed  to  shiver  con- 
vulsively. Then,  his  voice  scarcely  audible:  "No, 
it's — it's  true.  I — I  did.  I — I  guess  I'm  going  out 
— ain't  I?  It's — it's  true.  But  I — I  didn't  tell. 

There  weren't  any  men — I "  He  had  fainted  in 

the  Hawk's  arms. 

"My  God  I"  whispered  the  Hawk  solemnly.  "It's 
true — the  kid's  dying." 

He  held  the  flask  to  the  other's  lips  again.  It 
wasn't  the  Butcher,  then,  who  had  shot  the  boy; 
and,  besides,  he  saw  now  that  the  wound  was  in  a 
strangely  curious  place — in  the  back,  below  the  shoul- 
der blade ;  the  boy  had  been  sitting  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
and  the  back  of  his  vest  was  soaked  with  blood.  And 
the  Hawk  remembered  the  fusillade  of  bullets  that 
had  swept  up  the  interior  of  the  car,  and  the  spat 
upon  the  forward  door  panel  as  he  had  crouched 
there  outside — and  he  understood.  The  boy,  sitting 


150  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

in  a  stupor  in  his  chair  facing  the  forward  door, 
had  been  directly  in  the  line  of  fire,  and  a  stray  bul- 
let had  found  its  mark. 

"I — I  don't  know  how  you  knew" — the  boy  had 
roused,  and  was  speaking  again — "but — but  I'm  go- 
ing out — and — and  it's  true.  Two  days  ago,  a  man 
gave  me  a  hundred  dollars  to  stand  for — for  knock- 
out drops  on  the  run  to-night.  I — I  couldn't  get 
caught — I — I  was  safe — whatever  happened.  I'd  be 
found  drugged — and — and  no  blame  coming  to  me — 

and "  He  motioned  weakly  toward  the  flask  in 

the  Hawk's  hand.  "Give  me — give  me  some  more 
of  that!" 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment. 

"And,  instead,"  prompted  the  Hawk  quietly,  "you 
double-crossed  the  game." 

"I — I  had  a  counterfeit  ten-dollar  bill,"  the  boy 
went  on  with  an  effort.  "I'd  heard  about  the  Hawk 
— and — and  MacVightie.  I  knew  from  what — the 
fellow  said — that  the  Hawk — wasn't  one  of  them. 
I — I  got  to  thinking.  All  I  had  to  do  was  empty  the 
safe — and — and  write  just  what  the  Hawk  did  on 
the  bill — and — and  shove  it  in  the  safe — and — and 
take  the  diamonds — and — and  then  drink  the  tea 
that  had  the  drops  in  it.  I — I  would  be  drugged, 
and  they — they'd  think  the  Hawk  did  it  while  I  was 
drugged  before  they — they  got  here — and — and 
that's  what  I  did." 

The  boy  was  silent  again.  It  was  still  outside, 
very  still — only  the  chirpings  of  the  insects  and  the 
night-sounds  the  Hawk  had  listened  to  while  he  had 


THE  THIRD  PARTY  151 

lain  below  the  embankment  waiting  for  the  train  at 
Burke's  Siding.  There  was  a  set,  strained  look  on 
the  Hawk's  face.  The  kid  was  paying  the  long  price 
— for  twenty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  unset  dia- 
monds ! 

"To  make  it  look  like — like  the  real  thing" — the 
boy's  lips  were  moving  again — "I — I  cleaned  out 
everything  in  the  safe — but — but  of  course  there 
mustn't  any  of  that  be  found — and — and  I  tied  the 
stuff  up — and — and  weighted  it,  and  dropped  it — 
into — the — river  as  we  came  over  the  bridge  at 
Moosehead.  And  then  I  had  to — to  hide  the  dia- 
monds so  they  wouldn't  be  found  on  me,  and  yet  so's 
they — they'd  come  along  with  me — and — and  not 
be  left  in  the  car.  I  was  afraid  that  when  some  of 
the  train  crew  found  me  drugged — they — they'd  un- 
dress me — and — and  put  me  to  bed — and — and  so 
I  didn't  dare  hide  the  diamonds  in  my  clothes. 

They're — they're — in "     He  raised  himself  up 

suddenly,  clutched  frantically  at  the  Hawk's  shoul- 
ders and  his  voice  rang  wildly  through  the  car.  "Hold 
me  tight — hold  me  tight — don't  let  me  go  out  yet — 
I — I  got  something  more  to  say!  Don't  tell  her! 
Don't  tell  her!  I'll  tell  you  where  the  stones  are, 
they're  in  the  lining  of  my  lunch  satchel — but  don't — • 
oh,  for  God's  sake,  don't  tell  her — don't  let  her 
know  that — that  I'm  a — thief!  You  don't  have  to, 
do  you?  Say  you  don't!  I'm — I'm  going  out — I — 
I've  got  what's  coming  to  me,  and  that's — enough — 
isn't  it — without  her  knowing  too?  It — it  would 
kill  her.  She  was  a  good  mother — do  you  hear!" 


152  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

He  was  stiffening  back  in  the  Hawk's  arms.  "And 
this  ain't  coming  to  her.  She  was  a  good  mother — 
do  you  hear — everybody  called  her  mother,  but  she's 
my  mother — you  know — old  Mother  Barrett — 
short-order  house — you  know — old — Mother — Bar- 
rett— good " 

The  boy  never  spoke  again. 

The  Hawk  laid  the  still  form  gently  back  on  the 
floor  of  the  car,  and  stood  up.  And  there  was  a 
mist  in  the  Hawk's  eyes  that  blotted  out  his  immedi- 
ate surroundings,  and  in  the  mist  he  seemed  to  see 
another  scene,  and  it  was  the  picture  of  a  gentle, 
kindly-faced  old  woman,  who  had  silver  hair,  and 
who  wore  clothes  that  were  a  little  threadbare,  and 
whose  grey  Irish  eyes  behind  the  spectacles  were 
filled  with  tears,  and  he  seemed  to  see  the  thin  shoul- 
ders square  proudly  back,  and  he  seemed  to  hear 
her  speak  again :  "I  love  my  boy,  I  love  him  with 
all  my  heart,  but  I  should  a  thousand  times  rather 
see  him  dead  than  know  him  for  a  thief." 

Mechanically  the  Hawk  moved  over  to  the  desk 
where  the  lunch  satchel  still  lay,  and  emptied  out 
the  remainder  of  the  food. 

"No,"  said  the  Hawk,  "I  guess  she'll  never  know; 
and  I  guess  I'd  have  to  take  the  stuff  now,  anyway, 
whether  I  wanted  to  or  not — if  she's  not  to  know." 

He  was  examining  the  inside  of  the  satchel.  It 
was  an  old  and  well-worn  affair,  and  a  torn  piece  of 
the  lining,  stuck  down  with  paste  at  the  edges,  would 
ordinarily  have  attracted  no  attention.  The  Hawk 
loosened  this,  and  felt  inside.  At  the  bottom,  care- 


i 


THE  TH'JRD  PARTY  153 

fully  packed  away,  were  strips  of  cotton  wadding. 
He  took  one  out.  Embedded  in  this  were  a  number 
of  diamonds,  which,  as  he  drew  the  wadding  apart, 
flashed  brilliantly  in  the  light  of  the  oil  lamps  above 
his  head.  He  wrapped  the  stones  up  again,  and 
put  them  in  his  pocket — took  out  the  remainder  from 
the  satchel,  put  these  also  in  his  pocket,  and  replaced 
in  the  satchel  the  portion  of  the  lunch  he  had  re- 
moved. It  mattered  little  about  the  torn  lining  now ! 

"He  kind  of  put  it  up  to  me,"  said  the  Hawk 
slowly.  "Yes,  and  she  did  too — without  knowing  it 
— old  Mother  Barrett.  It's  kind  of  queer  she  should 
have  said  that — kind  of  queer."  The  Hawk  pulled 
the  drawer  of  the  desk  open,  and  nodded  as  he 
found  and  took  out  the  messenger's  revolver. 
"Thought  he'd  have  one,  and  that  it  would  most 
likely  be  here,"  he  muttered. 

He  crossed  the  car,  and  listened  intently  at  the 
open  side  door.  There  was  no  sound — nothing,  for 
instance,  coming  from  Bradley  yet.  He  closed  the 
door,  and  stood  for  an  instant  looking  down  at  the 
boy's  form  on  the  floor. 

"I  guess  I  can  fix  it  for  you,  kid — maybe,"  he 
said  simply.  "I  guess  I  can." 

In  rapid  succession  he  fired  five  of  the  seven  shots 
from  the  revolver;  then,  stooping,  laid  the  weapon, 
as  though  it  had  dropped  at  last  from  nerveless  fin- 
gers, just  beside  the  boy's  outstretched  hand.  He 
straightened  up,  stepped  to  the  side  door,  and  slid 
it  open  again. 

"It'll  let  the  smoke  out  before  anybody  gets  here," 


154  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

said  the  Hawk.  "The  Butcher  isn't  coming  forward 
with  any  testimony,  and  with  all  those  shots  fired  at 
the  time  of  the  hold-up  who's  to  know  the  boy  didn't 
fight  till  he  went  down  and  out?  And  now  I  guess 
I'll  make  my  own  getaway!"  He  dropped  to  the 
trackside,  and  started  forward  at  a  brisk  pace.  "I'll 
keep  on  a  bit  until  I  hear  something  coming,"  he  de- 
cided. "Then  I'll  lay  low  while  they're  cleaning  up 
the  line,  and  wait  till  I  can  hop  a  freight,  east  or 
west,  that  will  get  me  out  of  this  particular  locality. 
After  that,  there's  nothing  to  it!" 

A  hundred  yards  farther  on  the  Hawk  spoke 
again,  and  there  was  a  twisted  smile  on  the  Hawk's 
lips. 

"It'll  break  her  heart  anyway,  I  guess,"  he  said; 
"but  it'll  help  some  maybe  to  be  proud  of  him.  Yes, 
I  guess  they'll  tell  her  that,  all  right — that  he  died 
a  game  kid." 


THE   LEAD  CAPSULE 


1 


Hawk  yawned.  He  had  been  almost 
forty-eight  hours  without  sleep.  He  had 
slept  all  day  after  he  had  regained  his 
room,  following  the  night  at  "Five-Mile 


Crossing,"  but  after  that- 


He  frowned  in  a  perturbed  and  puzzled  way.  En- 
sconced now  in  a  wicker  lounging  chair  in  the  obser- 
vation car  of  the  Coast  Limited,  he  was  apparently 
engrossed  in  the  financial  page  of  his  newspaper, 
and  apparently  quite  oblivious  of  his  fellow  travel- 
lers, some  four  or  five  of  whom  lounged  and  smoked 
in  their  own  respective  wicker  chairs  around  him. 
On  a  little  pad  of  paper,  which  he  held  in  his  left 
hand,  he  might  even,  without  serious  tax  upon  the 
imagination,  have  appeared  to  be  calculating  the  ef- 
fect of  the  market's  fluctuations  upon  personal,  and 
perhaps  narrowly  held,  margins — for  again  he 
scowled  unhappily.  The  Hawk,  however,  at  the  mo- 
ment, was  engrossed  solely  with  a  few  curiously  as- 
sorted letters  of  the  alphabet,  which  were  scrawled 
across  the  top  of  the  pad.  They  ran : 

pzudlkmlqpb. 
155 


156  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Beneath  this  his  pencil  had  already  been  at  work, 
and  he  had  transformed  the  line  as  follows: 


He  was  staring  at  this  result  now  in  a  bewildered 
way.  Then  his  pencil  picked  out  the  remaining  five 
unscored  letters,  and  mechanically  set  them  down  as 
a  third  line  : 

rainy. 

"Rainy"  —  there  was  one  word,  just  one  word  — 
"rainy."  What  did  it  mean?  What  was  the  signi- 
ficance of  the  word?  No  message  in  the  Wire  Dev- 
ils' cipher,  once  the  message  was  decoded,  but  had 
been  at  once  clear  and  unmistakable  in  its  meaning 
before.  Had  they  resorted  now  to  code  words  as 
well,  to  a  cipher  within  a  cipher?  Into  the  grim- 
ness  of  the  Hawk's  smile  there  crept  a  hint  of  weari- 
ness, as  he  slipped  the  pad  into  his  pocket,  allowed 
the  newspaper  to  drop  to  his  knees,  and,  edging  his 
chair  around,  gazed  out  of  the  window. 

For  once  his  knowledge  of  their  cipher  was  ob- 
viously useless  to  him  —  and  useless  when  a  fore- 
knowledge of  their  plans  at  that  moment  meant 
scarcely  less  than  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  him 
in  a  very  unpleasantly  real  and  literal  sense.  Not 
a  word  had  come  from  them  ;  not  a  message  had  gone 
over  the  wires  on  either  of  the  two  preceding  nights  ; 
not  a  sign  of  existence  had  they  given  since  three 
nights  ago  when,  with  an  empty  safe  as  the  sole  re- 


THE  LEAD  CAPSULE  157 

ward  for  their  elaborately  laid  plans,  he,  the  Hawk, 
had  enriched  himself  with  the  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  diamonds  it  had  once  contained.  There 
had  been  something  sinister,  something  ominous  in 
their  silence,  as  compared  with  the  almost  insane 
ravings  of  MacVightie,  the  police,  and  the  press — 
yes,  and  the  railroad  men  as  well,  who  were  par- 
ticularly incensed  over  the  "murder"  of  the  young 
messenger  found  dead  at  his  post  in  the  express  car 
with  his  revolver  partially  emptied  on  the  floor  be- 
side him. 

The  Hawk  drummed  abstractedly  with  his  finger 
tips  upon  the  window  pane.  MacVightie,  the  police, 
and  the  press  made  no  doubt  but  that  he,  the  Hawk, 
was  the  leader  of  the  desperadoes  who  were  ter- 
rorising that  particular  section  of  the  country;  on  the 
other  hand,  the  gang  itself  had  already  had  occasions 
enough  and  in  plenty  to  be  painfully  aware  that  he, 
the  Hawk,  played  always  a  lone  hand — and  won! 
A  smile,  grim  and  ironical,  parted  the  firm,  set  lips. 
The  police  and  the  Wire  Devils  had  a  common  inter- 
est— the  Hawk.  He  was  the  storm  centre. 

The  smile  faded,  the  strong  jaws  clamped,  and 
the  dark  eyes  narrowed  on  the  flying  landscape.  It 
was  not  the  police  who  concerned  him,  it  was  not  the 
impotent  frothings  of  the  press — it  was  the  silence 
that  the  Wire  Devils  had  not  broken  since  that  night 
until  they  had  broken  it  this  morning  with  the  single 
word  that,  now  that  he  had  deciphered  it,  still  meant 
nothing  to  him.  A  dozen  times,  stealing  their  cipher 
messages,  he  had  turned  all  their  carefully  prepared 


158  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

plans  to  his  own  account,  and  snatched  away  the 
prize,  even  as  they  were  in  the  act  of  reaching  for 
it.  But  he  was  not  a  fool  to  close  his  eyes  to  the 
inevitable  result.  He  was  pitted  against  the  clever- 
est brains  in  the  criminal  world;  all  the  cunning  that 
they  knew  would  be  ruthlessly  turned  against  him; 
and,  already  out  to  "get"  him,  a  price  already  guar- 
anteed to  the  lucky  member  of  the  band  out  of  the 
common  funds,  the  empty  safe  of  three  nights  be- 
fore, with  its  jeering  ten-dollar  counterfeit  bill  flung 
in  their  faces,  crowned,  he  feared,  their  injuries  at 
his  hands,  and  marked  the  turning  point  where  they 
would  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  wreak  their  ven- 
geance upon  him. 

And  he  did  not  like  this  silence  of  theirs  since  that 
night.  Were  they  suspicious  at  last  that  he  had  the 
key  to  their  cipher?  He  did  not  think  so,  and  yet 
he  did  not  know — it  was  always  a  possibility.  But 
in  any  case,  wary  of  any  move  they  might  make,  he 
had,  as  far  as  it  was  humanly  possible,  remained 
within  sound  of  a  telegraph  instrument  ever  since. 
Last  night,  for  example,  taking  advantage  of  some 
repairs  that  were  being  made  on  the  station  at  Elk 
Head,  fifty  miles  east  of  Selkirk,  he  had  lain  hidden 
behind  a  mass  of  building  material  in  the  dismantled 
waiting  room  within  earshot  of  the  telegraph  soun- 
der— and  there  had  been  nothing.  Forced  to  retire 
from  there  by  the  advent  of  the  workmen,  he  had 
eaten  a  very  leisurely  breakfast  at  the  lunch  counter 
— still  within  earshot  of  the  sounder.  He  had  lin- 
gered around  the  station  as  long  as  he  had  dared 


THE  LEAD  CAPSULE  159 

without  running  the  risk  of  exciting  suspicion,  and 
then  he  had  taken  the  local  east  for  Bald  Creek—- 
and taken  the  chance,  because  he  had  no  choice,  that 
nothing  would  "break"  over  the  wires  during  the 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  that  he  was  on  the  train. 
The  Limited  scheduled  Bald  Creek,  and  that  would 
give  him  an  excuse  for  remaining  there,  an  innocent 
and  prospective  patron  of  the  road,  until  the  Limit- 
ed's  arrival  some  two  hours  later.  After  that,  if 
nothing  happened,  he  had  intended  to  go  back  on 
the  Limited  to  Selkirk — and  get  some  sleep. 

The  Hawk  yawned  heavily  again.  Yes,  after  an 
almost  uninterrupted  vigil  of  forty-eight  hours  one 
needed  sleep.  Well,  he  was  on  his  way  back  to  Sel- 
kirk now — on  the  Limited.  Only  something  had 
happened.  Almost  at  the  moment  that  the  Limited 
had  pulled  into  Bald  Creek,  the  Wire  Devils  had 
broken  their  silence,  and  a  cipher  message  had  flashed 
over  the  wires.  He  had  waited  for  it,  fought  for 
it,  schemed  for  it,  gone  without  sleep  for  two  days 
and  nights  for  it — and  he  had  been  rewarded.  He 
had  intercepted  the  message,  deciphered  it,  he  had 
got  it  at  last — he  had  it  now !  It  was  the  one  word — 
"rainy."  And  the  word  to  him  meant — nothing! 

The  Hawk's  fingers  ceased  their  drumming  on  the 
window  pane,  his  head  inclined  slightly  to  one  side, 
and  he  listened.  His  fellow  travellers  had  evidently 
scraped  up  acquaintanceship.  The  conversation  had 
become  general — and  suddenly  interesting. 

'  .  .  .  Yes,  unquestionably!   The  amount  I  have 
with  me  is  worth  quite  easily  a  half  million  francs — 


160  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  It  is  not  my  personal 
property,  I  regret  to  say.  Quantities  sufficient  to  be 
of  material  service  are  for  the  most  part  institu- 
tionally held." 

The  Hawk  swung  around  in  his  chair,  and  with 
frank  interest  surveyed  the  little  group.  He  had 
scanned  them  once  already,  critically,  comprehensive- 
ly— at  the  moment  he  had  first  entered  the  car.  The 
man  who  sat  nearest  to  him  was  a  doctor  from  Sel- 
kirk; and,  it  being  the  ingrained  policy  of  the  Hawk 
to  know  a  reporter  as  he  would  know  a  plain-clothes 
man,  he  had  recognised  one  of  the  others  as  a  young 
reporter  on  the  staff  of  the  Selkirk  Evening  Journal. 
The  others  again,  of  whom  there  were  three,  were 
strangers  to  him.  His  eyes  rested — with  frank  in- 
terest— on  the  man  who  had  just  spoken.  There  had 
been  just  a  trace  of  accent  in  the  other's  perfect 
English,  and  it  bore  out  the  man's  appearance.  The 
man  was  perhaps  forty-five  years  of  age,  rather 
swarthy  in  complexion,  and,  though  slight  in  build, 
commanding  in  presence.  The  black  Vandyke 
beard,  as  well  as  the  mustache,  was  carefully  trim- 
med; and  his  face  had  an  air  of  the  student  about 
it,  an  air  that  was  enhanced  by  the  extraordinarily 
heavy-lensed  spectacles  which  he  wore.  The  ex- 
cellent clothes  were  unmistakably  of  foreign  cut. 

"Great  Scott!"  ejaculated  the  reporter.  "Is  that 
straight?"  He  twisted  his  cigar  excitedly  from  one 
corner  of  his  mouth  to  the  other.  "I  say,  I  don't 
suppose  there's  a  chance  of  getting  a  squint  at  it, 
eh?" 


THE  LEAD  CAPSULE  161 

"A — squint?"  The  foreigner's  face  was  politely 
puzzled. 

"I  mean  a  chance  to  see  it — to  see  what  it  looks 
like,"  interpreted  the  reporter,  with  a  laugh. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course — a  squint.  I  will  remember 
that!"  The  foreigner  joined  in  the  laugh.  "One 
learns,  monsieur,  always,  eh — if  one  keeps  one's 
ears  open!"  He  reached  down  and  picked  up  a 
small  black  bag  from  the  floor  beside  his  chair.  "No, 
I  am  afraid  I  cannot  actually  show  it  to  you,  mon- 
sieur, owing  to  the  nature  of  the  container;  but  per- 
haps even  the  manner  in  which  it  is  carried  may  be 
of  interest,  and,  if  so,  I  shall  be  delighted." 

The  others,  the  Hawk  among  them,  leaned  spon- 
taneously forward  in  their  chairs.  From  the  bag 
the  man  produced  a  lead  box,  some  four  inches 
square.  He  opened  this,  and,  from  where  it  was 
nested  in  wadding,  took  out  what  looked  like  a  cy- 
lindrical-shaped piece  of  lead  of  the  thickness  and 
length  of  one's  little  finger.  He  held  it  out  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand  for  their  inspection. 

"Inside  this  sealed  lead  covering,"  he  explained, 
"is  a  glass  tube  hermetically  sealed.  The  lead,  of 
course,  absorbs  the  rays,  which  otherwise  would 
render  the  radium  extremely  dangerous  to  handle. 
You  perhaps  remember  the  story — if  not,  it  may 
possibly  be  of  interest.  Radium,  you  know,  was 
discovered  in  1898  by  Monsieur  and  Madame  Curie; 
but  the  action  of  radium  on  human  tissues  was  un- 
known until  1901,  when  Professor  Becquerel  of 
Paris,  having  incautiously  carried  a  tube  in  his  waist- 


162  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

coat  pocket,  there  appeared  on  the  skin  within  two 
weeks  the  severe  inflammation  which  has  become 
known  as  the  famous  'Becquerel  burn.'  Since  that 
time,  I  may  add,  active  investigation  into  the  action 
of  radium  has  been  carried  on,  resulting  in  the  es- 
tablishment in  Paris  in  1906  of  the  Laboratoire 
Biologique  du  Radium." 

The  doctor  from  Selkirk  reached  out,  and,  obtain- 
ing a  smiling  permission,  picked  up  the  lead  cylinder 
from  the  other's  hand.  The  reporter  sucked  noisily 
on  the  butt  of  his  cigar. 

"And  d'ye  mean  to  say  that's  worth  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars?"  he  demanded  helplessly. 

"Fully!"  replied  the  foreigner  gravely.  "I  should 
consider  myself  very  fortunate  if  I  had  the  means 
and  the  opportunity  of  purchasing  it  at  that  price. 
There  are  only  a  few  grains  there,  it  is  true,  and  yet 
even  that  is  a  very  appreciable  percentage  of  the 
world's  entire  output  for  a  single  year.  The  Aus- 
trian Government,  when  it  bought  the  radium-pro- 
ducing pitchblende  mines  at  Joachimsthal,  you  know, 
acquired  what  is  practically  a  world's  monopoly  of 
radium.  And  since  the  annual  production  of  ore 
from  those  mines  is  but  about  twenty-two  thousand 
pounds,  and  that  from  those  twenty-two  thousand 
pounds  only  something  like  forty-six  grains  of  ra- 
dium are  obtained,  it  is  not  difficult  to  understand  the 
enormous  price  which  it  commands." 

The  little  lead  cylinder  passed  from  hand  to  hand. 
It  came  last  to  the  Hawk.  He  examined  it  with  no 
more  and  no  less  interest  than  had  been  displayed  by 


THE  LEAD  CAPSULE  163 

the  others,  and  returned  it  to  its  owner,  who  re- 
placed it  in  the  black  handbag. 

"Look  here,"  said  the  reporter  impulsively,  "I 
don't  want  to  nose  into  personal  affairs;  but,  if  it's 
a  fair  question,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  the 
stuff?" 

It  was  the  doctor  from  Selkirk  who  spoke  before 
the  foreigner  had  time  to  reply. 

"I  was  being  tempted  to  ask  the  same  question 
myself,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  am  a  physician — Doc- 
tor Moreling  is  my  name — and  from  what  you  have 
said  I  imagine  that  possibly  you  are  a  medical  man 
yourself?" 

"And  you  are  quite  right,"  the  other  answered 
cordially.  "I  am  Doctor  Meunier,  and  I  come  from 
Paris." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Selkirk  physician  excited- 
ly. "Not  Doctor  Meunier,  the  famous  cancer  spec- 
ialist and  surgeon  of  the  Salpetriere  Hospital!" 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders  protestingly. 

"Well,"  he  smiled,  a  little  embarrassed,  "my  name 
is  certainly  Meunier,  and  it  is  true  that  I  have  the 
honour  to  be  connected  with  the  institution  you  have 
mentioned." 

The  reporter  had  a  notebook  in  his  hand. 

"Gee !"  he  observed  softly.  "You  don't  mind,  do 
you,  Doctor  Meunier?  This  looks  like  luck  to  me. 
I'm  on  the  Evening  Journal — Selkirk." 

"Ah — a  reporter!"  The  dark  eyes  seemed  to 
twinkle  humorously  from  behind  the  heavy  lenses. 
"I  have  met  some — when  I  landed  in  New  York. 


164  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

They  were  very  nice.  I  liked  them  very  much.  Cer- 
tainly, young  man,  why  should  you  not  say  anything 
I  have  told  you?  You  have  my  permission." 

"Fine !"  cried  the  reporter  enthusiastically.  "And 
now,  Doctor  Meunier,  if  you'll  just  round  out  the 
story  by  telling  us  why  the  celebrated  Paris  surgeon 
is  travelling  in  America  with  a  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  radium,  I'll  be  glad  I  got  panned  on 
the  story  I  went  after  this  morning  and  so  had  to 
take  this  train  back." 

"Panned?"  inquired  the  other  gravely. 

"Yes."  The  reporter  nodded.  "It  blew  up,  you 
know." 

"Blew  up!  Ah!"  The  foreigner's  face  was  at 
once  concerned.  "So!  You  were  in  an  accident, 
then?" 

"No,  no,"  laughed  the  reporter.  "There  wasn't 
anything  in  the  story.  It  didn't  have  any  founda- 
tion." 

"Again  I  learn,"  observed  the  foreigner,  with  an 
amused  drawl.  He  studied  the  reporter  for  an  in- 
stant quizzically.  "And  so  I  am  to  supply  the  place 
of  the  panned  story  that  blew  up — is  that  it?  Well, 
very  well!  Why  not?  I  see  no  reason  against  it, 
if  it  will  be  of  service  to  you.  Very  well,  then.  I 
have  been  summoned  to  Japan  to  attend  a  case  of 
cancer — radium  treatment — and  I  am  on  my  way 
there  now."  He  smiled  again.  "I  have  noticed  that 
American  reporters  are  observant,  and  it  may  occur 
to  you  that  I  might  have  reached  my  destination 
quicker  by  way  of  Russia.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  how- 


THE  LEAD  CAPSULE  165 

ever,  I  was  in  New  York  attending  a  convention 
when  I  received  the  summons.  I  cabled  for  the  rad- 
ium, and — well,  young  man,  that  pretty  well  com- 
pletes the  story." 

"Yes — thanks!"  said  the  reporter.  He  wrote 
rapidly.  "Operation  on  a  Japanese?" 

"Why,  yes,  of  course — on  a  Japanese." 

'  'Summoned,'  you  said.  That  listens  as  though 
it  might  be  for  one  of  the  Emperor's  family,"  prod- 
ded the  reporter  shrewdly. 

"I  did  not  say  so,"  smiled  the  other  imperturbably. 

"And  even  if  it  were  so "     He  shrugged  his 

shoulders  significantly. 

"I  get  you !"  grinned  the  reporter.  "Well,  there's 
no  harm  in  saying  a  'High  Personage'  then,  is  there? 
That  sounds  good,  and  it  would  have  to  be  some  one 
on  the  top  of  the  heap  to  bring  a  man  like  you  all 
this  way." 

"Let  us  be  discreet,  young  man,  and  say — well,  let 
us  say,  a  member  of  •>  prominent  family,"  suggested 
the  other,  still  smiling. 

"All  right,"  agreed  the  reporter.  "I  won't  put 
anything  over  on  you,  I  promise  you.  And  now, 
doctor,  tell  us  something  more  about  radium,  how 
it  acts  and  all  that,  and  how  an  operation  is  per- 
formed with  it,  and " 

The  Hawk  had  apparently  lost  interest.  He  set- 
tled back  in  his  chair,  and  picked  up  his  previously 
discarded  newspaper — yet  occasionally  his  eyes 
strayed  over  the  top  of  his  newspaper,  and  rested 
meditatively  on  the  little  black  handbag  on  the  car 


166  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

floor  beside  the  Frenchman's  chair.  The  doctor 
from  Selkirk,  the  reporter,  and  the  French  specialist 
talked  on.  The  Limited  reached  the  last  stop  before 
Selkirk.  As  the  train  pulled  out  again,  the  Hawk, 
as  it  were,  summed  up  his  thoughts. 

"A  hundred  thousand  dollars,"  confided  the  Hawk 
softly  to  himself.  "Maybe  it  wouldn't  be  easy  to 
sell,  but  it  would  make  a  very  nice  haul — a  very 
nice  haul.  It  would  tempt — almost  anybody.  Yes, 
bad  stuff  to  handle;  the  fences  would  be  leery  prob- 
ably, because  I  guess  every  last  grain  on  this  little 
old  globe  is  catalogued  as  to  ownership,  and  they'd 
be  afraid  it  would  be  an  open-and-shut  game  that 
what  they  were  trying  to  shove  would  be  spotted  as 
the  stolen  stuff — not  that  it  couldn't  be  done  though, 
at  that!  There's  always  somebody  to  take  a  chance 
— on  a  hundred  thousand  dollars !  And  what  about 
the  institution  that  owns  it  coming  across  big  and  no 
questions  asked  to  get  it  back  again?  Yes,  I  guess 
it  would  make  a  nice  haul — a  very  nice  haul.  I  won- 
der  " 

The  conductor  had  entered  the  car,  had  said  some- 
thing that  the  Hawk  had  not  caught — and  now  the 
French  specialist  was  on  his  feet. 

"How  long  did  you  say?"  he  demanded  excitedly. 

"I  didn't  say,"  replied  the  conductor;  "I  only 
guessed — twelve  hours  anyway,  and  if  we're  through 
under  twenty-four  it'll  be  because  some  one  has  per- 
formed a  miracle." 

"Twelve  hours — twenty-four!"  echoed  the 
Frenchman  wildly.  "But,  mon  Dieu,  I  have  not 


THE  LEAD  CAPSULE  167 

that  to  spare  to  catch  my  steamer  for  Japan  in  San 
Francisco !" 

"But  what's  wrong,  conductor?"  asked  the  Sel- 
kirk doctor.  "You  haven't  told  us  that." 

"The  Rainy  River  bridge  is  out,"  the  conductor 
answered. 

The  Rainy  River  bridge !  The  Hawk  reached  into 
his  pocket,  withdrew  his  cigarette  case,  and  made  a 
critical  choice  of  one  of  the  six  identical  cigarettes 
the  case  contained. 

"Out!    How?"  the  doctor  from  Selkirk  persisted. 

"No  details,"  said  the  conductor;  "except  that  it 
was  blown  up  a  little  while  ago  and  that  they  think 
it's  the  work  of  the  Hawk's  gang.  They  just  got 
word  over  the  wire  at  the  last  stop." 

"Jumping  whiskers!"  yelled  the  reporter.  "Is 
that  right,  conductor?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  it's  right,  fast  enough,"  said  the  con- 
ductor grimly.  He  turned  to  the  Frenchman.  "It's 
tough  luck,  sir,  to  miss  transpacific  connections;  but 
I  guess  that's  the  man  you've  got  to  thank  for  it — 
the  Hawk." 

"The  Hawk?  What  is  that?  Who  is  the 
Hawk?"  The  Frenchman  had  lost  his  poise;  he  was 
gesticulating  violently  now. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  reporter  briskly.  "He's 
the  man  that's  got  your  original -  reign  of  terror 
skinned  a  mile — believe  me !  He's  an  ex-Sing  Sing 
convict,  and  he's  the  head,  brains  and  front  of  a 
gang  of  criminals  operating  out  here  compared  with 
whom,  for  pure,  first-water  deviltry,  any  one  of  Sa- 


168  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

tan's  picked  cohorts  would  look  as  shy  and  retiring 
as  a  maiden  lady  of  sixty  who  suddenly  found  her- 
self in  a  one-piece  bathing  suit — in  public.  That's 
the  Hawk!  Yes,  sir — believe  me!" 

Doctor  Meunier  waved  his  hands,  as  though  to 
ward  off  a  swarm  of  buzzing  bees. 

"I  do  not  understand!"  he  spluttered  angrily.  "I 
do  not  care  to  understand !  You  do  not  speak  Eng- 
lish! I  understand  only  of  the  delay!"  He  caught 
at  the  conductor's  sleeve.  "You,  monsieur — is  there 
not  something  that  can  be  done?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  the  conductor.  "We'll 
be  in  Selkirk  now  in  a  few  minutes,  and  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  see  Mr.  Lanson,  the  superin- 
tendent." 

The  conductor  retired. 

The  Frenchman  sat  down  in  his  chair,  mopped  his 
face  with  a  handkerchief,  and  stared  from  one  to 
another  of  his  fellow  passengers. 

"Messieurs,  it  is  necessary,  it  is  imperative,  that  I 
catch  the  steamer!"  he  cried  frantically.  "What  am 
I  to  do?" 

"Lanson's  a  good  head;  he'll  fix  you  up  some 
way,"  said  the  reporter  soothingly.  "Don't  you 
worry.  I'm  mighty  sorry  for  you,  Doctor  Meunier, 
upon  my  soul — but,  say,  this  is  some  story — whale 
of  a  climax!" 

The  Frenchman  glared  for  an  instant;  then,  lean- 
ing forward,  suddenly  shook  his  fist  under  the  other's 
nose. 


THE  LEAD  CAPSULE  169 

"Young  man.  damn  your  story!"  he  snarled  dis- 
tractedly. 

The  Hawk  retired  once  more  behind  his  news- 
paper. The  reporter  was  pacifying  the  excited 
Frenchman.  The  Hawk  was  not  interested  in  that. 
The  message,  that  single  word  which  had  puzzled 
him,  was  transparently  clear  now — and  had  been 
from  the  moment  the  conductor  had  spoken.  The 
surmise  of  the  railroad  officials,  even  if  it  were  no 
more  than  surmise  on  their  part,  was  indubitably 
correct — barring  the  slight  detail  of  his  own  partici- 
pation in  the  affair!  The  Wire  Devils  had  blown 
up  the  Rainy  River  bridge.  This,  as  a  detached  fact, 
did  not  interest  him  either — they  were  quite  capa- 
ble of  blowing  up  a  bridge,  or  anything  else.  That 
was  a  detail.  But  they  were  quite  incapable  of  doing 
it  without  a  very  good  and  sufficient  reason,  and  one 
that  promised  returns  of  a  very  material  nature  to 
themselves.  What  was  the  game?  Why  the  Rainy 
River  bridge?  Why  this  morning?  Why  at  this 
time?  The  Rainy  River  bridge  was  but  a  few 
miles  west  of  Selkirk,  and — the  Hawk's  eyes  strayed 
over  his  newspaper  again,  and  rested  mildly  upon 
the  Frenchman's  little  black  handbag,  that  was  quite 
slim,  and  not  over  long,  that  was  of  such  a  size,  in 
fact,  that  it  might  readily  be  concealed  under  one's 
coat,  for  instance,  without  attracting  undue  atten- 
tion— and  with  the  bridge  out  a  passenger,  say  on 
the  Coast  Limited  this  noon  would  experience  an 
annoying,  somewhat  lengthened,  but  unavoidable  in- 
terruption in  his  journey.  The  passenger  might  even 


170  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

be  forced  to  spend  the  night  in  Selkirk,  and  very  much 
might  happen  in  a  night — in  Selkirk !  It  was  a  little 
elaborate,  it  seemed  as  though  it  might  perhaps  have 
been  accomplished  with  a  little  less  fuss — though 
lack  of  finesse  and  exceeding  cunning  was,  in  his 
experience,  an  unmerited  reproach  where  that  un- 
known brain  that  planned  and  plotted  the  Wire 
Devils'  acts  was  concerned;  but,  however  that  might 
be,  the  reason  that  the  Rainy  River  bridge  was  out 
now  appeared  quite  obviously  attributable — to  a  very 
excited  foreigner,  and  a  little  black  handbag  whose 
contents  were  valued  at  the  modest  sum  of  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars. 

"And  I  wonder,"  said  the  Hawk  almost  plaintively 
to  himself,  "I  wonder  which  of  us  will  cash  in  on 
that!" 

The  Hawk  rose  leisurely  from  his  chair,  as  the 
train  reached  Selkirk.  He  permitted  the  French- 
man, the  Selkirk  physician  and  the  reporter  to  de- 
scend to  the  platform  in  advance  of  him;  but,  as 
they  hurried  through  the  station  and  around  to  the 
entrance  leading  upstairs  to  the  divisional  offices,  ob- 
viously with  the  superintendent's  office  as  their  ob- 
jective, the  Hawk,  in  the  privileged  character  of  an 
interested  fellow  traveller,  fell  into  step  with  the 
reporter. 

The  four  entered  the  superintendent's  office,  and 
from  an  unobtrusive  position  just  inside  the  door  the 
Hawk  listened  to  the  conversation.  He  heard  Lan- 
son,  the  superintendent,  confirm  the  conductor's  story, 
and  express  genuine  regret  at  the  Frenchman's 


THE  LEAD  CAPSULE  171 

plight,  as  he  admitted  it  to  be  a  practical  certainty 
that  the  other  would  miss  his  connection  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. The  Frenchman  but  grew  the  more  excited. 
He  suggested  a  special  train  from  the  western  side 
of  the  bridge — they  could  get  him  across  in  a  boat, 
he  said.  The  superintendent  explained  that  traffic 
in  the  mountains  beyond  was  already  demoralised. 
The  Frenchman  raved,  begged,  pleaded,  implored — 
and  suddenly  the  Hawk  sucked  in  his  breath  softly. 
The  Frenchman  was  backing  his  appeal  for  a  special 
with  the  offer  to  pay  any  sum  demanded,  and  had 
taken  a  well-filled  pocketbook  from  his  pocket.  The 
Hawk's  eyes  aimlessly  sought  the  toes  of  his  boots. 
He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  fat  wad  of  bills,  a 
very  fat  wad,  whose  denominations  were  of  a  large 
and  extremely  interesting  nature.  The  official  shook 
his  head.  It  was  not  a  question  of  money;  nor  was 
the  other's  ability  to  pay  in  question.  Later  on,  he, 
Lanson,  would  know  better  what  the  situation  was; 
meanwhile  he  suggested  that  Doctor  Meunier  should 
go  to  the  hotel  and  wait — that  there  was  nothing  else 
to  do  for  the  moment.  The  Selkirk  physician  here 
intervened,  and,  agreeing  with  the  superintendent, 
offered  to  escort  the  Frenchman  to  the  Corona  Hotel. 
The  Hawk,  as  one  whose  curiosity  was  satiated, 
but  satiated  at  the  expense  of  time  he  could  ill  afford, 
nodded  briefly  to  the  reporter  who  stood  nearest  to 
him,  and  quietly  left  the  room. 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

FIVE  minutes  later,   standing  in   another 
room — his     own — the     Hawk     rapidly 
changed  the  light-grey  suit  he  had  been 
wearing  for  one  of  a  darker  material. 
From  the  pockets  of  the  discarded  suit  he  trans- 
ferred to  the  pockets  of  the  suit  he  had  just  put  on, 
amongst  other  things,  his  automatic  and  his  bunch 
of  skeleton  keys.     He  opened  his  trunk,  removed 
the  false  tray,  and  smiled  with  a  sort  of  grim  com- 
placency as  his  glance  inventoried  its  unhallowed 
contents;  and  particularly  he  smiled,  as,  opening  a 
little  box,  he  allowed  a  stream  of  gleaming  stones 
to  trickle  out  into  the  palm  of  his  hand — the  twenty 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  diamonds  robbed  from 
the  Fast  Mail  three  nights  ago. 

"Some  haul!"  observed  the  Hawk  softly.  "And, 
with  any  luck,  there'll  be  something  else  there  worth 
the  whole  outfit  put  together  before  to-night  is 
over."  He  replaced  the  diamonds  in  the  box,  the 
box  in  the  tray,  and  spoke  again,  but  now  his  smile 
was  hard  and  twisted;  not  an  article  there  but  he 
had  scooped  from  under  the  noses  of  the  gang. 
"Yes,  I  guess  I'd  go  out  like  you'd  snuff  a  candle  if 

172 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF  173 

they  ever  get  me,  and  I  guess  they're  getting — 
querulous  I" 

The  Hawk,  however,  had  not  opened  the  trunk 
purely  for  the  opportunity  it  afforded  of  inspecting 
these  few  mementos,  interesting  as  they  might  be. 
It  was  an  excellent  safeguard  to  change  his  clothes, 
but  it  would  avail  him  very  little  if — well,  any  one, 
say — were  still  permitted  to  recognise — his  face ! 
From  the  top  of  the  tray,  where  it  lay  upon  the 
packages  of  banknotes  that  had  once  reposed  in  the 
paymaster's  safe,  the  Hawk  picked  up  a  mask  and 
slipped  it  into  his  pocket.  He  fitted  the  false  tray 
back  into  the  lid  of  the  trunk,  closed  the  trunk, 
locked  it,  put  on  a  wide-brimmed,  soft  felt  hat, 
locked  the  door  of  his  room  behind  him,  descended 
the  narrow  staircase,  and  stepped  out  on  the  street. 

His  destination  was  the  Corona  Hotel,  but  there 
was  no  particular  hurry.  Undoubtedly  from  the 
moment  the  Frenchman  had  left  the  train  some,  or 
one,  of  the  gang  had  fastened  on  the  man's  trail; 
but  the  companionship  of  the  Selkirk  physician  guar- 
anteed the  Frenchman's  immediate  safety.  His  own 
plan,  as  far  as  it  was  matured,  was  very  simple. 
He  meant  to  "spot"  if  he  could,  should  that  particu- 
lar member,  or  members,  of  the  gang  be  unknown 
to  him  personally,  the  man,  or  men,  selected  by  the 
Wire  Devils  to  shadow  the  Frenchman — and  then 
watch  the  gang!  The  Hawk  had  no  intention  what- 
ever of  making  an  attempt  on  the  Frenchman's 
property  with  the  gang  watching  him — that  would 
have  been  little  less  than  the  act  of  a  fool  who  was 


174  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

bent  on  suicide!  Since,  therefore,  he  had  no  choice 
in  the  matter,  he  was  quite  content  to  have  the  gang 
take  the  initiatory  risk  in  relieving  the  Frenchman 
of  the  handbag!  After  that — the  Hawk's  old 
twisted  smile  was  back  on  his  lips  as  he  walked 
along — after  that  it  became  his  business  to  see  that 
the  bag  did  not  get  very  far  out  of  his  sight! 

He  reached  and  crossed  the  city  park  upon  which 
the  Corona  Hotel  fronted,  entered  the  hotel,  and, 
sauntering  leisurely  through  the  lobby,  approached 
the  desk.  He  glanced  casually  over  the  register; 
then,  lighting  a  cigar,  he  selected  a  chair  near  the 
front  windows  where  he  could  command  a  general 
view  of  the  lobby,  and  sat  down. 

Doctor  Meunier's  room  was  Number  106. 

Once  the  Hawk's  eyes  lazily  surveyed  the  lobby; 
thereafter  they  appeared  to  be  intent  on  what  was 
passing  in  the  street.  He  was  in  luck!  The  first 
trick,  at  least,  had  gone  to  him.  Lolling  in  a  chair 
near  the  elevator  doors,  and  apparently  drowsy 
from  a  heavy  luncheon,  was — the  Bantam.  The 
Hawk  smoked  on.  Half  an  hour  went  by.  The 
Bantam  appeared  to  awaken  with  a  start,  smiled 
sheepishly  about  him,  went  over  to  the  news  stand, 
bought  a  paper — and  returned  to  his  seat.  The 
Hawk  finished  his  cigar,  rose,  strolled  to  the  main 
entrance,  and  went  out.  The  Bantam  could  be 
safely  trusted  to  see  that  Doctor  Meunier  did  not 
vanish  into  thin  air!  He  would  do  the  like  for  the 
Bantam!  He  crossed  over  into  the  park. 

The  Hawk  chose  a  bench — strategically.     Shel- 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF  175 

tered  by  a  row  of  trees,  he  had  the  corner  upon 
which  the  hotel  was  built  diagonally  before  him, 
and  could  see  both  the  side  entrance  on  the  cross 
street  and  the  front  entrance  on  the  main  thorough- 
fare. 

The  Hawk's  vigil,  however,  was  not  immediately 
rewarded.  An  hour  passed — and  yet  another — and 
the  greater  portion  of  the  afternoon.  Five  o'clock 
came.  A  newsboy  passed,  crying  the  Evening  Jour- 
nal. The  Hawk  bought  one.  A  headline  in  heavy 
type  on  the  front  page  instantly  caught  his  eye: 

ONE  HUNDRED  THOUSAND  DOLLARS  IN 
A  LEAD  CAPSULE 

And  beneath  this,  still  in  assertive  type: 

Famous   French  Surgeon   en   route  to  Japan  with 

Fortune   in   Radium   Misses   Connections 

Through  Destruction  of  Railroad 

Bridge 

Offers  Company  Large  Sum  of  Money  for  Special 
Train  to  the  Coast 

"Yes,"  observed  the  Hawk  caustically,  "and  even 
if  I  hadn't  known  anything  about  it  before,  I'd  have 
had  a  look-in  thanks  to  this!  Sting  you,  wouldn't 
it !  The  papers  hand  you  a  come-on — and  then  they 
wonder  at  crime!" 

The  "story"  itself  ran  a  column  and  a  half.    The 


176  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Hawk  began  to  read — or,  rather,  to  divide  his  at 
tention  between  the  story  and  the  hotel  entrances. 
The  reporter  had  certainly  set  out  with  the  inten- 
tion of  overlooking  no  detail  that  could  be  turned 
to  account.  His  meeting  and  conversation  with  the 
Frenchman  in  the  car  were  breezily  set  forth;  the 
member  of  a  "prominent  family"  in  Japan  artfully 
disguised,  or,  perhaps  better,  disclosed  no  less  au- 
gust a  personage  than  the  Emperor  himself;  the 
value  of  radium,  both  intrinsically  and  scientifically, 
was  interestingly  dealt  with;  and  the  surgeon's  black 
handbag,  with  its  priceless  contents,  was  minutely 
described  and  featured. 

The  Hawk  had  reached  this  point,  when  suddenly 
the  newspaper  and  the  reporter's  version  of  the 
story  lost  interest  for  him.  Doctor  Meunier,  grip- 
ping his  little  black  handbag  tenaciously,  had 
stepped  out  through  the  main  entrance  of  the  hotel, 
and  was  walking  briskly  down  the  street.  A  mo- 
ment later,  the  Bantam  sauntered  through  the  door- 
way and  started  in  the  same  direction,  a  hundred 
yards  behind  the  Frenchman.  The  Hawk,  with  a 
grim  smile,  folded  his  paper,  stuffed  it  into  his 
pocket,  rose  from  the  bench,  crossed  the  street,  and 
fell  into  the  procession — a  hundred  yards  behind  the 
Bantam. 

It  was  still  light,  though  it  was  beginning  to  grow 
dusk — too  light  for  any  highway  thuggery,  and  yet 
— the  Hawk  gradually  closed  the  gap  between  him- 
self and  the  Bantam  to  half  the  original  distance. 

The  chase  led  on  for  a  half  dozen  blocks,  then 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF  177 

turned  into  one  of  the  crowded  streets  of  the  shop- 
ping district,  and  proceeded  in  a  downtown  direc- 
tion. And  then,  abruptly,  the  Hawk  dropped  fur- 
ther behind  the  Bantam  again,  and  crossed  to  the 
opposite  sidewalk.  It  was  perhaps  only  fancy,  but 
intuitively  he  felt  that  he,  too,  in  turn,  was  being 
followed.  His  hat  brim,  hiding  his  face,  was  pulled 
a  little  farther  forward  over  his  eyes,  as  he  hurried 
now  until  he  was  abreast  of  the  Frenchman.  In- 
tuition or  not,  it  was  quite  possible  and  even  likely 
that  one  of  the  gang  might  "cover"  the  Bantam. 

The  Hawk  scowled.  He  could  not  be  sure;  and 
he  dared  not  put  it  to  more  than  a  casual  test,  for 
he  could  not  afford  to  lose  sight  of  the  Bantam.  He 
paused,  took  a  slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket,  and, 
as  though  having  consulted  it  for  an  address,  ap* 
peared  to  scan  the  signs  and  numbers  on  the  stores 
in  his  immediate  vicinity.  The  Frenchman  had 
passed  by;  the  Bantam  was  directly  opposite  to  him 
now  across  the  street.  The  Hawk's  keen  eyes 
searched  the  stream  of  pedestrians  behind  the  Ban- 
tam. And  then  suddenly  he  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  returned  the  paper  to  his  pocket — a  man,  in  a 
light  suit  and  brown  derby  hat,  had  stepped  out  of 
the  crowd,  and  was  leisurely  lighting  a  cigarette  in 
a  doorway  just  across  from  where  he,  the  Hawk, 
stood. 

The  Hawk  went  on,  but  keeping  in  the  rear  of 
the  Bantam  now  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street. 
He  was  still  not  sure;  but,  in  any  case,  neither  could 
the  man  in  the  brown  derby  be  sure  that  he,  the 


178  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Hawk,  was  following  the  Bantam.  So  far  then, 
granted  that  he  was  being  followed,  it  was  an  even 
break! 

At  the  next  crossing  the  Frenchman  accosted  a 
policeman,  and,  as  though  he  had  received  direc- 
tions, at  once  turned  down  the  cross  street.  The 
Hawk,  as  he  followed,  smiled  grimly.  The  cross 
street  automatically  verified  the  suspicions  of  the 
man  in  the  brown  derby — if  the  man  in  the  brown 
derby  had  any  suspicions  to  verify;  but,  at  one  and 
the  same  time,  it  also  answered  the  Hawk's  own 
question. 

The  Hawk,  in  turn,  made  use  of  a  doorway.  He 
could  afford  to  allow  the  Bantam,  temporarily,  the 
lead  of  an  extra  half  block  now,  for  there  were 
fewer  people  on  the  cross  street  and  he  would  still 
be  able  to  keep  the  other  in  sight.  A  minute,  two, 
elapsed — and  then  the  Hawk  picked  up  the  Ban- 
tam's trail  again.  The  man  in  the  brown  derby  hat 
had  passed  by  the  corner  and  continued  on  along 
the  main  street. 

And  yet  still  the  Hawk  was  not  satisfied.  And 
it  was  not  until  after  he  had  repeated  the  same 
manoeuvre  some  four  or  five  times,  as  the  French- 
man, leading,  turned  into  different  streets,  that  he 
was  finally  convinced  that  neither  the  man  in  the 
brown  derby  hat,  nor  any  one  else,  was  interested 
in  his  movements. 

The  chase,  since  leaving  the  main  street,  had 
wound  its  way  through  the  less  populous  wholesale 
district — it  ended  at  the  railway  station.  The 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF  179 

Frenchman  passed  along  the  front  of  the  building, 
and  disappeared  through  the  doorway  leading  up- 
stairs to  the  divisional  offices,  his  object  being,  it 
now  appeared  obvious,  to  obtain  another  interview 
with  the  superintendent;  the  Bantam  disappeared 
inside  the  main  entranceway  of  the  station,  evidently 
to  await  the  Frenchman's  reappearance;  and  the 
Hawk,  on  the  far  side  of  the  street,  slipped  into  the 
lane  that  h'ad  served  him  many  times  as  a  thorough- 
fare between  the  station  and  his  room  over  the 
saloon  two  blocks  away. 

It  was  growing  dark  now.  A  half  hour  went  by. 
Still  the  Hawk  crouched  in  the  shadow  of  the  build- 
ing that  bordered  the  lane.  The  street  lights  went 
on.  The  six  o'clock  whistle  blew  from  the  shops 
over  across  the  tracks.  Either  the  Frenchman  was 
a  visitor  not  easy  to  get  rid  of,  or  Lanson  was  out 
and  the  other  was  awaiting  the  superintendent's  re- 
turn. But  the  Hawk's  patience  was  infinite. 

Another  fifteen  minutes  dragged  .away;  then  the 
office  door  opened,  the  Frenchman  emerged,  and 
started  back  uptown.  The  Bantam  appeared  from 
the  main  entranceway,  and  started  after  him.  The 
chase  was  on  again.  The  Hawk  followed. 

The  Frenchman,  seemingly  stfcking  to  rule  of 
thumb  and  following  the  directions  he  had  received 
on  the  way  down,  took  exactly  the  same  route  on 
the  way  back.  But  now  the  neighborhood  presented 
an  entirely  different  aspect.  The  wholesale  houses 
were  closed;  the  streets  deserted,  dark,  and  poorly 
lighted. 


180  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  Hawk  hugged  the  shadows  of  the  buildings 
craftily  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  Was 
it  coming  now?  Certainly  the  gang  would  go  far 
before  finding  a  more  ideal  opportunity,  and  the 
Bantam,  if  he  had  realised  that  fact,  could  easily 
have  sent,  or  telephoned,  a  message  from  the 
station.  He,  the  Hawk,  had  not  cared  to  take  the 
risk  of  following  the  Bantam  inside — the  Ban- 
tam might  remember  having  seen  him  in  the 
hotel  lobby. 

And  then  the  Hawk's  lips  thinned.  Yes — it  was 
the  old,  old  game!  They  were  on  the  cross  street, 
a  little  less  than  a  block  distant  from  the  main 
street  ahead.  The  Bantam  began  to  close  up  on  the 
Frenchman.  The  Hawk  now,  crouching  low, 
slipped  almost  literally  from  doorway  to  doorway. 
Two  men,  apparently  drunk  and  quarrelling,  were 
coming  down  the  block  toward  the  Frenchman.  The 
Bantam  closed  to  within  a  few  yards  of  his  quarry. 
The  brawl  attained  its  height  as  the  two  men  reached 
the  Frenchman.  One  man  struck  the  other.  They 
clenched,  and,  smashing  into  the  Frenchman  knocked 
him  down.  His  hat  flew  in  one  direction,  the  hand- 
bag in  another.  The  brawlers  curiously  did  not  re- 
sume their  quarrel,  but  lounged  a  few  paces  away — 
within  call  of  the  Bantam.  The  Hawk,  squeezed  in 
his  doorway  directly  opposite  the  scene,  kept  his  eyes 
on  the  Bantam.  If  the  play  had  lacked  originality 
before,  it  did  not  lack  it  now !  The  Bantam  stooped, 
picked  up  the  handbag,  and,  as  he  stooped  again  for 
the  hat,  slipped  the  handbag  under  his  coat,  and 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF  181 

slipped  another  bag — evidently  a  carefully  prepared 
duplicate — out  from  under  his  coat  and  into  his  hand. 
The  Frenchman  was  rising  dazedly  to  his  feet.  The 
Bantam  stepped  hurriedly  forward,  holding  out  hat 
and  bag. 

"I  hope  you're  not  hurt,  sir,"  the  Hawk  heard 
him  say — and  then  the  two  moved  on  together 
toward  the  corner. 

The  Hawk  shook  his  shoulders  in  a  queer,  almost 
self-apologetic  sort  of  way,  as  he  followed  again. 
And  then  he  smiled  as  queerly.  The  Bantam  had 
the  bag  now,  and,  if  he,  the  Hawk,  were  permitted 
to  hazard  an  opinion,  the  Wire  Devils  had  very 
kindly  picked  the  fruit  again  for  him  to  eat! 

At  the  corner,  the  Bantam  shook  hands  with  the 
Frenchman,  and,  stepping  out  into  the  street,  sig- 
nalled an  approaching  car.  Quick,  alert  on  the  in- 
stant, the  Hawk,  safe  in  the  protection  of  the 
crowded  sidewalk,  moved  swiftly  along  in  the  di- 
rection that  the  car  would  take,  his  eyes  searching 
the  street  on  both  sides  for  a  taxicab.  The  street 
car  passed  him,  but  stopped  at  the  next  corner,  and 
he  caught  up  with  it  again.  And  then,  over  his 
shoulder,  he  saw  a  taxi  coming  up  behind  him.  He 
stepped  from  the  curb,  and  stopped  it. 

"Sorry,  sir,"  said  the  chauffeur.  'Tm  going 
after  a  fare." 

"You've  got  one  now — and  a  good  one,"  said 
the  Hawk  quietly.  He  had  opened  the  door — a 
ten-dollar  bill  lay  in  the  chauffeur's  hand. 


182  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"Yes,  but  look  here,  sir,"  said  the  chauffeur,  a 
little  dubiously,  "I'll  get  into  trouble  for  this, 
and " 


The  Hawk  had  stepped  inside,  and  lowered  the 
window  between  himself  and  the  chauffeur. 

"Follow  that  car,"  said  the  Hawk  pleasantly. 
"And  while  we're  on  the  crowded  streets  don't  get 
so  far  behind  it  that  you  can't  close  up  near  enough 
to  see  who  gets  off  every  time  it  stops.  And  don't 
worry  about  your  trouble — there's  another  ten  com- 
ing on  top  of  the  regular  fare.  That's  good 
enough,  isn't  it?" 

"I  guess  I'm  not  kicking!"  admitted  the  chauf- 
feur. The  taxi  started  forward.  He  looked  back 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  Hawk.  "What's  the  lay? 
Fly-cop?" 

"Maybe!"  said  the  Hawk.  "Mind  yourself! 
It's  stopping  again.  Keep  where  I  can  see  both 
sides  of  the  car." 

"I  get  you !"  said  the  chauffeur.  "Leave  it  to  me !" 

Block  after  block  was  passed,  the  street  car  stop- 
ping frequently.  The  Hawk,  in  the  body  of  the 
taxi,  knelt  behind  the  chauffeur's  back,  his  eyes  held 
steadily  on  the  street  car  ahead.  The  Bantam  did 
not  alight.  The  street  car  began  to  run  out  into 
the  suburbs.  The  taxicab,  with  lights  out  now,  risk- 
ing the  city  ordinance,  dropped  back  to  a  more  re- 
spectful distance  in  the  rear.  The  district  became 
less  settled,  the  houses  farther  apart;  the  street 
lights  were  single  incandescents  now,  and  these  few 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF  183 

and  far  between.  There  was  one  passenger  left  in 
the  car — the  Bantam. 

The  chauffeur  spoke  abruptly. 

"We're  pretty  near  the  end  of  the  line,"  he  said. 

"All  right,"  the  Hawk  answered.  "Stop  when 
the  car  stops — keep  about  this  distance,  we're  not 
likely  to  be  noticed."  A  moment  later  he  stepped 
from  the  taxi.  "Wait  for  me  here!"  he  directed. 

The  Bantam,  leaving  the  street  car,  had  started 
off  at  a  sharp  pace  past  the  end  of  the  car  line.  It 
was  little  more  than  a  country  road  now;  only  a 
house  here  and  there.  The  Bantam,  just  discern- 
ible in  the  darkness,  had  a  lead  of  perhaps  a  hun- 
dred yards,  and  the  Hawk,  moving  stealthily,  began 
to  creep  nearer,  and  still  nearer,  until  the  hundred 
yards  were  fifty — and  then  suddenly,  with  a  low 
muttered  exclamation,  he  threw  himself  flat  on  the 
ground.  The  Bantam,  abreast  of  a  house  from 
which  there  showed  a  light  in  the  side  window,  had 
turned  in  abruptly  from  the  road.  A  glow  of  light 
spread  out  as  the  front  door  opened.  The  Hawk 
lay  motionless.  Then  the  Bantam  entered,  and  the 
door  was  closed  again.  A  little  later,  a  form  ap- 
peared at  the  side  window,  a  hand  reached  up,  and 
the  shade  was  drawn. 

"Nice  respectable  neighborhood,  too!"  observed 
the  Hawk  tersely.  "Wonder  if  it's  the  lair,  and  if 
the  Master  Spider's  in  there  now?" 

He  was  creeping  forward  now  across  a  small 
lawn.  He  neared  the  side  window;  it  was  open, 
and  the  shade  lacked  a  tiny,  though  inviting,  space 


184  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

of  reaching  to  the  sill.  A  murmur  of  voices  came 
from  within.  There  was  not  a  sound  from  the 
Hawk.  And  then,  from  beneath  the  window,  which 
was  low  and  not  more  than  four  feet  from  the 
ground,  he  raised  himself  up  cautiously,  and  sud- 
denly his  dark  eyes  narrowed.  It  was  not  the  Mas- 
ter Spider — it  was  the  Butcher,  whose  treachery  had 
nearly  done  for  him  that  night  in  the  paymaster's 
office,  the  man  whom  he  had  promised  should  one 
day  remember! 

He  could  hear  now,  and  he  could  see.  It  was  a 
sitting  room  such  as  one  might  find  anywhere  in  a 
house  whose  occupants  were  in  comfortable  circum- 
stances. It  was  cosily  and  tastefully  furnished.  It 
bore  no  sign  of  criminal  affiliation;  it  was,  as  it 
were,  a  sort  of  alibi  in  itself.  A  telephone  stood 
on  the  table  beside  a  pile  of  magazines,  the  latter 
flanked  by  an  ornamental  reading  lamp;  deep  leather 
lounging  chairs  added  to  the  inviting  and  homelike 
appearance  of  the  room — the  incongruity  was  in  the 
Butcher's  thin,  hatchet-like  face,  and  in  the  coarse, 
vicious  features  of  the  short,  stocky  Bantam,  as  they 
faced  each  other  across  the  table. 

"Where's  the  others,  d'ye  say?"  demanded  the 
Bantam. 

"Out,"  said  the  Butcher.  "The  chief  called  'em 
an  hour  ago.  I  don't  know  what's  up.  I  guess 
you  and  I  keep  house  here  to-night;  he  said  you 
were  to  stay.  Mouser  and  Jack  were  to  report  to 
Kirschell,  weren't  they?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  they  said." 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF  185 

"Well,  all  right!"  The  Butcher  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "That's  none  of  our  hunt.  I  suppose 
you  got  it,  didn't  you — or  you  wouldn't  be  here?" 

"Sure,  I  got  it!"  answered  the  Bantam.  "What 
d'ye  think?" 

"Let's  have  a  look,"  said  the  Butcher  eagerly. 
"The  chief  says  we  can  cash  in  on  it  for  fifty  thou- 
sand." 

"Fifty  thousand!"  The  Bantam  growled,  as  he 
unbuttoned  his  coat,  and,  taking  out  the  bag,  laid  it 
on  the  table.  "I  thought  it  was  worth  a  hundred 
thousand!" 

"So  it  is."  The  Butcher  was  opening  the  bag. 
"But  it's  no  cinch  to  turn  it  into  money  without  a 
big  split — savvy?" 

The  Butcher  opened  the  lead  box,  took  out  the 
lead  cylinder,  and  balanced  it  speculatively  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand. 

The  Bantam  regarded  it  distrustfully. 

"It  don't  look  like  fifty  cents  to  me!"  he  com- 
mented finally. 

"I  know,"  said  the  Butcher  facetiously;  "but 
your  eyesight's  bum,  Bantam!  Have  any  trouble?" 

The  Bantam  grinned. 

"Not  what  you'd  notice !  After  the  Mouser  and 
Jack  smashed  into  him,  the  poor  old  boob  didn't 
know  what  had  happened  till  I  was  handing  him  his 
hat  and  the  other  bag.  I  guess  he  bumped  his 
bean  kind  of  hard  on  the  sidewalk." 

The  Butcher  nodded  approvingly.     He  was  still 


186  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

twisting  the  lead  cylinder  around  and  around  in  his 
hand. 

"Say,"  suggested  the  Bantam  impatiently,  after 
a  moment,  "when  you've  done  chucking  it  under  the 
chin,  put  it  to  bed  somewhere,  and  if  there's  any 
grub  in  the  house  lead  me  to  it.  I'm  hungry!" 

"All  right!"  agreed  the  Butcher.  He  replaced 
the  lead  cylinder  in  its  box,  and  the  box  in  the  bag, 
crossed  the  room,  opened  a  little  cupboard  in  the 
wall  opposite  the  window,  laid  the  bag  inside,  and 
closed  the  cupboard  door  again.  "Come  on!"  he 
said. 


1 


—  XIII  — 

THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR 
i 

two  men  left  the  room.  The  Hawk 
did  not  move.  He  was  fingering  in  a 
curiously  absent-minded  sort  of  way  the 
edges  of  the  newspaper  that  still  pro- 
truded from  his  pocket.  It  was  very  simple,  very 
easy.  The  window  was  open,  the  cupboard  was  not 
locked,  the  room  was  empty,  there  were  only  the 
Bantam  and  the  Butcher  to  look  out  for,  and  they 
were  in  another  part  of  the  house;  he  had  only  to 
lift  aside  the  window  shade,  step  in,  steal  across  the 
room,  and  steal  out  again — with  a  hundred-thou- 
sand-dollar prize.  It  was  very  inviting.  It 
seemed  suddenly  as  though  it  were  a  pressing  invi- 
tation to  enter  that  room — and  never  leave  it  alive! 
Flashing  quick  through  the  Hawk's  brain  now 
was  a  resume  of  the  afternoon,  of  each  separate 
and  individual  occurrence  since  he  had  left  the  train. 
Had  he,  after  all,  been  followed?  If  so — how? 
Had  the  Bantam  been  warned?  He  shook  his 
head,  as  though  impatient  with  himself.  Even 
apart  from  that,  what  he  had  begun  to  suspect  now 
would  be  thoroughly  logical  on  the  part  of  the  gang. 
The  newspaper  supplied  the  key.  He  would  un- 

187 


188  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

questionably  have  seen  the  newspaper  that  after- 
noon, and  he  would,  apart  from  being  spared  sev- 
eral aimless  hours  in  the  park,  have  done  exactly  as 
he  had  done,  and  just  as  unquestionably  be  where 
he  was  now  at  this  precise  moment  even  if  he  had 
not  been  with  the  Frenchman  on  the  train.  The 
newspaper  placed  him  in  possession  of  the  same 
facts  that  the  Wire  Devils  possessed.  They  must 
know  that.  They  were  therefore  justified  in  as- 
suming that  he,  quite  as  rabidly  as  themselves,  would 
make  an  attempt  to  steal  the  bag.  They  knew,  in 
that  case,  that  he  would  have  discovered  that  they 
were  already  at  work;  and  they  knew  that,  on  a 
dozen  occasions  before,  that  had  not  prevented  him 
from  snatching  the  prize  they  had  already  counted 
within  their  grasp.  Were  they  on  their  guard  now 
— or  a  little  more  than  on  their  guard  1  Were  they 
offering  him,  on  the  chance  or  with  the  knowledge 
that  he  was  here  now,  the  opportunity  to  snatch 
another  prize — and  seeing  to  it  that  it  was  for  the 
last  time! 

The  Hawk  edged  back  from  the  window;  and, 
silent  as  a  shadow  now,  began  to  circuit  the  house. 
And  then  suddenly  his  suspicion  became  a  certainty. 
It  was  only  a  little  thing — a  slip — but  it  was 
enough.  The  Butcher  had  made  a  misplay !  There 
was  no  light  in  any  other  window — and  a  man  did 
not  usually  eat  in  the  dark!  It  was  fairly,  even 
painfully,  evident  now  that  the  Bantam  and  the 
Butcher  were  in,  say,  the  adjoining  room,  waiting 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  189 

for  him  to  enter  through  that  window  into  their 
trap. 

But  there  was  still  the  little  black  bag — and  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars!  The  Hawk's  smile  was 
more  ominous  than  pleasant.  There  were  other 
ways  apart  from  a  window — and  even  two  men, 
especially  if  they  were  caught  napping,  had  been 
known  to  be  quite  amenable  to  the  influence  of  the 
muzzle  of  an  automatic! 

The  Hawk  found  the  back  door  entrance,  found 
it  locked — and  used  a  skeleton  key.  He  was  per- 
haps five  minutes  in  opening  the  door;  but  in  those 
five  minutes  there  was  no  click  of  lock  as  the  handle 
turned  by  infinitesimal  fractions  of  an  inch,  no  creak 
of  hinge  as  the  door  little  by  little  swung  back  and 
was  closed  again. 

The  silence  was  almost  uncanny.  It  was  utter 
blackness.  By  feeling  out  with  his  hand  he  discov- 
ered he  was  in  a  passageway.  He  moved  along, 
guiding  himself  by  the  sense  of  touch  against  the 
wall,  his  weight  balanced  and  full  upon  one  foot 
before  he  lifted  the  other  for  the  next  step. 

It  seemed  a  passage  of  interminable  length,  that 
led  on  and  on  through  blackness  and  silence.  In 
reality  he  had  come  possibly  thirty  feet,  and  had 
passed  one  door.  And  then  he  began  to  catch  the 
sound  of  voices  whispering.  The  whisperings  grew 
more  distinct  and  became  low,  guarded  tones,  as  he 
moved  forward — and  now  he  could  distinguish 
words.  He  flattened  back  against  the  side  of  the 
passage.  Opposite  to  him  was  an  open  door;  and 


190  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

within  the  room,  instead  of  blackness  now,  was  a 
sort  of  murky  gloom  which  was  created  by  a  ray  of 
light  that  seeped  in  through  a  partially  open  door  at 
the  far  side  of  the  room.  The  Hawk's  fingers 
slipped  into  his  pocket — and  slipped  his  mask  over 
his  face.  He  had  his  bearings  now.  The  room 
from  which  the  light  came  was  the  baited  trap;  the 
room  immediately  in  front  of  him  was  the  room 
from  which  the  trap  was  to  be  sprung!  His  hand 
went  to  his  pocket  again,  and  came  out  with  his  au- 
tomatic. It  was  their  move  now.  If,  when  they 
finally  grew  impatient,  they  went  back  into  the 
lighted  room,  or  turned  on  the  light  in  the  room 
where  they  were  now  waiting,  they  sprang  the  trap 
upon  themselves. 

Came  the  Bantam's  low  growl — and  the  twitch- 
ing of  the  Hawk's  jaw  muscles. 

"I  don't  like  it,  I  tell  you!  Where  is  he? 
What's  he  waiting  for?  I  know  he  followed  me. 
You  saw  him  yourself  from  the  front  room  creeping 
across  the  lawn  out  there.  'Twouldn't  take  him 
all  this  time  to  get  in  through  that  window." 

"Aw,  shut  up!"  snarled  the  Butcher.  "You'd 
give  any  one  the  creeps!" 

"That's  all  right,"  whispered  the  Bantam 
hoarsely;  "but  I  said  from  the  start  it  was  a  fool 
game  not  to  cover  him  close  on  the  way  back, 
and " 

"Yes — and  scare  him  off!"  sneered  the  Butcher. 
"There  ain't  but  one  guy  that'd  pick  up  that  trail 
— and  that's  the  Hawk.  He's  butted  in  enough, 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  191 

but  he's  butted  in  for  the  last  time  to-night  1  The 
two  of  us  are  aplenty,  aren't  we?  Sure — cover  him 
close  on  the  way  back — and  scare  him  off!  D'ye 
think  he's  a  fool!" 

"No,  I  don't,  curse  him!"  retorted  the  Bantam. 
"And  if  I'd  had  my  way,  I'd  have  croaked  him  in 
broad  daylight  with  a  bullet  through  his  bean,  and 
finished  him  for  keeps  the  minute  Jack  spotted  him 
following  me!  Instead  of  that,  Jack  never  even 
gets  a  look  at  his  mug." 

"You're  some  bright  guy!"  grunted  the  Butcher. 
"We'd  have  had  a  hot  chance  making  a  dead  man 
tell  us  where  he'd  planted  those  diamonds  off  the 
Fast  Mail,  not  to  speak  of  a  few  other  little  trifles 
the  swine  did  us  out  of!" 

"And  you  think " 

"You  bet,  I  do!"  the  Butcher  cut  in  viciously. 
"He'll  talk  to-night  to  save  his  life — and  then  I'll 
toss  you,  Bantam,  if  you  like,  to  see  who  bumps  him 
off!" 

The  Hawk's  fingers  played  in  a  curious,  caress- 
ing motion  over  the  stock  of  the  automatic  in  his 
hand;  the  twist  on  his  lips  grew  a  little  harder,  a 
little  more  merciless. 

There  was  movement  in  the  room  now.  One  of 
the  two,  the  Bantam  undoubtedly,  in  growing  un- 
easiness, was  moving  softly,  erratically,  up  and 
down  the  room.  It  proved  to  be  the  Bantam. 

"Well  then,  where  the  blazes  is  he !"  he  burst  out 
nervously. 


192  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"Aw,  shut  up !"  snarled  the  Butcher  savagely  for 
the  second  time. 

The  Bantam's  shadow,  as  the  man  paced  up  and 
down,  passed  the  doorway,  repassed,  and  passed 
again. 

"I  tell  you,  I  don't  like  it!"  he  flung  out  suddenly. 
"Something's  wrong!  If  he's  outside  the  house,  he 
can't  see,  anyway.  I'm  going  to  take  a  chance, 
and » 

There  was  a  click,  the  light  in  the  passageway 
went  on — then  a  yell  from  the  Bantam  in  the  door- 
way— a  lightning  spring  from  the  Hawk,  as  the 
other  jerked  a  weapon  upward — and  the  Bantam 
went  down  in  a  heap,  as  the  Hawk's  clubbed  weapon 
caught  him  on  the  head.  It  was  quick,  like  the 
winking  of  an  eye.  Fron  back  in  the  room,  the 
Butcher  sprang  forward  for  the  doorway — and 
fired — and  missed — and  the  Hawk's  left  hand,  as 
they  came  upon  each  other,  darting  out,  closed  with 
the  strength  of  a  steel  vise  on  the  Butcher's  right 
wrist,  and  with  a  terrific  wrench  twisted  the  other's 
arm  halfway  around.  It  was  lighter  now  in  the 
room — light  enough  to  see.  The  two  forms  swayed 
strangely — a  little  apart — the  Butcher's  body  bent 
over,  as  though  queerly  deformed.  Slowly,  re- 
morselessly, the  Hawk  turned  the  other's  arm  in 
its  socket.  Sweat  sprang  to  the  Butcher's  forehead, 
his  faci  writhed  with  pain — and,  with  a  scream  of 
agony,  his  revolver  clattered  to  the  floor. 

"You're  breaking  it — for  God's  sake,  let  go!" 
he  moaned. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  193 

The  Hawk  kicked  the  revolver  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room. 

"Take  the  Bantam  by  the  shoulders  and  drag 
him  into  that  lighted  room!"  The  Hawk's  tones 
were  flat,  unpleasant.  "I  don't  think  I  hit  him 
hard  enough  to  take  the  chance  of  leaving  him  there 
alone!" 

The  Butcher  obeyed — with  the  muzzle  of  the 
Hawk's  automatic  pressed  persuasively  against  the 
small  of  his  back.  He  left  the  Bantam  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  sitting  room  floor,  and  himself  accepted 
a  chair — at  the  Hawk's  invitation. 

"You  again — eh,  Butcher?"  The  Hawk's  voice 
had  become  a  drawl.  With  his  automatic  covering 
the  Butcher,  he  had  backed  to  the  cupboard,  opened 
it,  and  was  feeling  inside  with  his  left  hand.  "My 
grateful  thanks,  and  you'll  convey  my  compliments 
— the  Hawk's,  you  know — to  our  friend — the 
chief."  He  had  slipped  the  little  black  bag  under 
his  arm,  and  now  his  hand  was  back  in  the  cup- 
board again ;  he  had  felt  a  ball  of  heavy  cord  there. 
"Sorry  I  haven't  a  phony  ten-spot  with  me — my 
card,  you  know — unpardonable  breach  of  etiquette 
— really!"  He  smiled  suddenly.  The  ball  of 
cord  was  in  his  hand,  as  he  advanced  toward  the 
Butcher's  chair.  He  set  the  little  black  bag  down  on 
the  table. 

The  Butcher  seemed  to  have  lost  all  his  charac- 
teristic ferocity;  the  sharp  little  ferret  eyes  rested 
anywhere  but  on  the  Hawk,  and  on  his  face  was  a 
sickly  grin. 


194  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"Stand  up!"  commanded  the  Hawk  curtly — he 
was  knotting  the  end  of  the  cord  into  a  noose. 
"Now — your  hands  behind  your  back — and  to- 
gether !  Thank  you !"  He  slipped  the  noose  over 
the  Butcher's  hands,  and  began  to  wind  the  cord 
around  the  other's  wrists. 

The  Butcher  winced. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  Hawk  apologetically;  "but 
it's  all  I  have.  The  cord  is  rather  thin,  and  I'm 
afraid  it  may  cut  into  you — not  strong  enough  to 
allow  you  any  play,  you  know.  And,  by  the  way, 
Butcher,  I  heard  the  Bantam  say  that  I  was  spotted 
on  the  way  down — I  presume  he  meant  on  the  way 
down  to  the  station.  I'll  be  honest  and  admit  I'm 
disappointed  in  myself.  Would  you  mind  explaining, 
Butcher — I  was  quite  convinced  there  was  no  one 
behind  me." 

"There  wasn't!"  The  Butcher  risked  a  sneer. 
"Mabbe  the  French  guy  was  heard  telephoning  to 
the  station,  and  the  Bantam  passed  on  the  word. 
Nobody  had  to  follow  behind.  All  there  was  to 
do,  knowing  where  the  Frenchy  was  going,  was  to 
dodge  around  the  blocks  ahead,  and  keep  hidden 
down  the  different  intersecting  streets,  and  see  if  the 
same  guy  kept  going  by  the  corners  after  the  Ban- 
tam." 

"Thank  you,  Butcher,"  murmured  the  Hawk 
gratefully.  "That  lets  me  out  a  little,  doesn't  it?" 
He  wound  the  cord  again  and  again  around  the 
Butcher's  wrists,  knotted  it,  shoved  the  other  un- 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  195 

ceremoniously  back  into  the  chair,  and  tied  the 
Butcher's  legs. 

The  Hawk  then  gave  his  attention  to  the  Ban- 
tam. The  Bantam  was  just  beginning  to  regain 
consciousness.  The  Hawk  knelt  down,  rolled  the 
man  over  on  his  side,  and  secured  him  in  the  same 
manner  as  he  had  the  Butcher.  But  with  the  Ban- 
tam he  went  a  little  farther.  He  transferred  the 
Bantam's  handkerchief  from  the  Bantam's  pocket 
to  the  Bantam's  mouth — and  tied  it  there. 

He  turned  once  more  to  the  Butcher. 

"I  must  apologise  again,"  he  said  softly.  "I 
hate  to  do  this" — he  felt  for,  and  obtained,  the 
Butcher's  handkerchief — "but  the  house  is  unfor- 
tunately close  to  the  road,  and  you  might  inadver- 
tently make  yourself  heard  before  I  got  decently 
away." 

The  Butcher's  reply  was  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

The  Hawk,  about  to  cram  the  handkerchief  into 
the  other's  mouth,  paused. 

"Butcher,"  said  the  Hawk,  almost  plaintively, 
"if  you'll  permit  me  to  deal  in  mixed  metaphors, 
you  appear  to  have  shed  your  spots — you're  too 
awfully  docile !" 

"You  got  the  goods,"  muttered  the  Butcher  sul- 
lenly. "What  more  do  you " 

He  stopped  suddenly.  His  eyes  met  the  Hawk's. 
The  telephone  on  the  table  was  ringing. 

The  Hawk  hesitated.  Into  the  Butcher's  eyes, 
narrowed  now,  there  seemed  to  have  come  a  mock- 
ing gleam.  The  telephone  rang  again.  And  then 


196  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  Hawk  reached  out  abruptly,  and  took  the  re« 
ceiver  from  the  hook. 

"Hello!"  he  said  gruffly. 

"Four  X.     Who's  that?"  responded  a  voice. 

There  was  something  familiar  about  the  voice, 
but  he  could  not  on  the  instant  place  it.  The 
Hawk's  mind,  even  as  he  answered,  was  swiftly 
cataloguing  every  member  of  the  gang  known  to 
him  in  an  effort  to  identify  it. 

"The  Bantam,"  he  said. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  voice.  "Give  me  the 
Butcher." 

"Hold  the  line,"  answered  the  Hawk. 

He  placed  his  hand  over  the  transmitter.  The 
voice  was  still  eluding  him.  He  turned,  and  eyed 
the  Butcher. 

"Four  X  wants  you,  Butcher."  All  the  drawl,  all 
the  insouciance  was  gone  now;  his  voice  was  hard 
with  menace,  cold  as  death.  "And  you're  going  to 
speak  to  him — but  you're  going  to  say  what  I  tell 
you  to  say.  But  before  you  begin,  I  want  you  to  re- 
member the  little  account  between  us  that's  been 
hanging  over  since  that  night  in  the  paymaster's  of- 
fice. If  you  make  a  break,  if  you  try  to  frame  me — 
/'//  settle  that  account  here  to-night,  while  you  sit  in 
that  chair.  If  you  hesitate  on  a  word,  I'll  fire — and 
not  through  my  pocket,  you  yellow  cur !  Understand  ? 
Don't  kid  yourself  on  this,  Butcher!  If  I  nod  my 
head,  say  'yes' — and  no  more.  Now!" 

The  Butcher  had  sunk  back  in  his  chair.    There 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  197 

was  fear  in  his  face;  it  was  white,  and  he  circled  his 
lips  with  his  tongue. 

Beneath  the  mask,  the  Hawk's  lips  were  a  straight 
line.  He  laid  down  his  automatic  on  the  table,  placed 
the  receiver  to  his  own  ear,  and  held  the  transmit- 
ter to  the  Butcher's  lips. 

"Go  ahead !"  ordered  the  Hawk.  "Ask  him  what 
he  wants."  His  fingers,  cupped  and  pressed  over 
the  transmitter,  lifted. 

"Hello!"  said  the  Butcher.     "What  is  it?" 

"That  you,  Butcher?  Everything  all  right?"  in- 
quired the  voice. 

The  Hawk  nodded. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Butcher. 

"Well,  open  up  a  bit!"  complained  the  voice.  "Did 
you  get  him,  and " 

The  voice  was  speaking  on.  The  Hawk's  lips 
had  set  a  little  tighter.  He  had  recognised  the  voice 
now.  His  fingers  were  pressed  over  the  transmitter 
again. 

"Tell  him  you  laid  me  out  cold,"  instructed  the 
Hawk;  "and  that  I  haven't  regained  consciousness 
yet.  Now!"  The  voice  had  ceased  speaking;  the 
Hawk's  fingers  lifted  again. 

"We  beaned  him,"  said  the  Butcher  morosely. 
"He's  still  asleep." 

<rGood!"  chuckled  the  voice.  "I'll  be  up  there  by 
and  by,  and " 

"Tell  him  to  stay  where  he  is,  that  it  will  be — 
safer."  The  Hawk  clipped  off  his  words. 


198  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  Butcher  delivered  the  message,  the  snarl  in 
his  voice  entirely  to  the  Hawk's  liking. 

"What?"  questioned  the  voice.  "I  didn't  get 
you." 

"Repeat!"  whispered  the  Hawk. 

The  Butcher  repeated. 

"O.  K.,"  came  back  the  answer.  "Yes,  I  guess 
you're  right.  So  long,  Butcher." 

"Say  'good-night,'  "  prompted  the  Hawk. 

"  'Night !"  growled  the  Butcher. 

The  Hawk  replaced  the  receiver  on  the  hook,  and 
the  instrument  on  the  table. 

The  Butcher's  lips  were  livid. 

The  Hawk  picked  up  his  automatic  and  leaned 
forward,  his  eyes  on  a  level  with  the  Butcher's. 

"What's  that  fellow's  moniker,  Butcher?" 

The  Butcher  hesitated. 

The  automatic  crept  forward  an  inch. 

"Parson  Joe."  The  Butcher's  voice  choked  with 
mingled  rage  and  fear. 

"Parson  Joe,  eh?"  repeated  the  Hawk  ruminat- 
ingly.  "Was  he  the  chap  who  pulled  that  con  game 
on  the  Riverdale  Bank  back  in  New  York  State 
about  six  years  ago,  and  afterwards  got  cornered  by 
the  police  in  Ike  Morrissey's  gambling  hell,  and  was 
caught  because  he  nearly  bled  to  death,  with  his  wrist 
half  off,  trying  to  get  through  a  broken  window 
pane?  He  got  four  spaces.  That  him?" 

T<If  you  say  so,  it  must  have  beenl"  There  was 
a  leer  in  the  Butcher's  voice. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  199 

"Was  it?"  The  automatic  touched  the  Butcher's 
breast. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Butcher. 

"Thank  you!"  smiled  the  Hawk.  "Now !" 

He  gagged  the  Butcher  with  the  handkerchief,  tied 
it  securely  into  place,  stood  up,  picked  up  the  little 
black  bag,  switched  off  the  electric  reading  lamp, 
moved  to  the  window,  and  drew  aside  the  shade. 
"We'll  let  that  account  stand  open  for  a  little  while 
longer,  Butcher,"  he  said  softly.  "Just  a  little  while 
longer — good-night !" 

He  swung  out  of  the  window,  dropped  to  the 
ground,  ran  across  the  lawn,  and  gained  the  road. 
His  mask  and  automatic  were  back  in  his  pockets. 
His  fingers  felt  and  patted  the  little  black  bag  under 
his  coat. 

"Always  play  your  luck,"  whispered  the  Hawk 
confidentially  to  himself.  "It  seems  to  me  I  saw 
a  little  loose  change  in  Doctor  Meunier's  pocket- 
book,  and  I  don't  think  he's  opened  the  duplicate  bag 
yet  and  stirred  up  a  fuss.  It  isn't  much  compared 
with  a  hundred  thousand,  or  even  fifty,  to  quote  the 
Butcher,  but  'every  little  bit  added  to  what  you've 

got '  "  He  fell  to  whistling  the  tune  pleasantly 

under  his  breath,  as  he  hurried  along  the  road. 

A  minute  later  he  had  regained  the  taxicab. 

"Drop  me  a  block  this  side  of  the  Corona — and 
give  her  all  she's  got!"  he  directed  crisply. 

"D'ye  get  him?"  demanded  the  chauffeur  eagerly. 

"My  friend,"  replied  the  Hawk  gently,  as  he 
stepped  into  the  taxi,  "if  you'll  think  it  over,  you'll 


200  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  really  don't  want 
to  know.  Take  it  from  me  that  the  less  you're  wise 
about  to-night  the  wiser  you  will  be  to-morrow.  Now, 
cut  her  loose!" 

It  had  taken  a  good  thirty  minutes  on  the  trip 
up;  it  took  less  than  half  of  that,  by  a  more  direct 
route,  for  the  return  journey.  At  the  corner,  a  block 
from  the  hotel,  the  Hawk  crumpled  two  generous 
bank-notes  into  the  chauffeur's  hand,  and  bade  the 
man  good-night.  He  traversed  the  block,  entered 
the  hotel  lobby,  and,  ignoring  the  elevators,  leisurely 
and  nonchalantly  ascended  the  staircase  to  the  first 
floor.  From  the  landing  he  noted  the  room  num- 
bers opposite  to  him,  and  with  these  as  a  guide  passed 
on  along  the  corridor  to  where  it  turned  at  right 
angles  at  the  corner  of  the  building,  and  halted 
before  room  No.  106.  A  light  showing  above  the 
transom  indicated  that  the  Frenchman  was  within. 
He  had  passed  one  or  two  people.  No  one  had  paid 
any  attention  to  him.  Why  should  they!  He 
glanced  up  and  down.  The  corridor,  for  the  mo- 
ment, was  empty.  He  tried  the  door  gently — it  was 
locked.  His  right  hand,  in  his  side  pocket,  closed 
over  his  automatic.  He  pressed  close  to  the  door, 
knocked  gently  with  his  left  hand — and  with  his  left 
hand  reached  quickly  into  his  pocket  for  his  mask. 

"Who's  there?"  the  Frenchman  called  out. 

"Message  for  you,  sir,"  the  Hawk  answered. 

Footsteps  crossed  the  room,  the  key  turned  in  the 
lock — and,  in  a  flash,  the  Hawk,  slipping  on  his 
mask,  had  pushed  the  door  open,  closed  it  behind 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  201 

him,  and  the  Frenchman  was  staring  into  the  muzzle 
of  the  automatic. 

"Mon  Dieuf"  gasped  the  Frenchman  faintly. 

"That's  right!"  said  the  Hawk  coolly.  "Don't 

speak  any  louder  than  that,  or "  He  shrugged 

his  shoulders  significantly,  as  he  locked  the  door. 

The  Frenchman,  white-faced,  was  evidently  fight- 
ing for  his  nerve. 

"What — what  is  it?"  he  stammered.  "What  is  it 
that  you  want?" 

It  was  almost  a  reassuring  smile  that  flickered  on 
the  Hawk's  lips,  and  his  voice  did  not  belie  it — it 
was  purely  conversational  in  its  tones. 

"I  was  reading  in  the  paper  this  afternoon  about 
the  famous  Doctor  Meunier.  I'm  a  bit  of  a  scientist 
myself,  in  an  amateur  way,  and  I'm  particularly  in- 
terested in  radium  when  there's  enough  of  it  to " 

"Ah I  My  radium!  That  is  what  you  want!" 
cried  out  the  Frenchman  wildly.  The  duplicate  bag 
lay  on  the  bed.  He  ran  for  it,  and  snatched  it  up. 
"No !  That  you  shall  not  have !  You  come  to  steal 
my  radium,  you " 

"You  jump  at  conclusions,  doctor,"  said  the  Hawk 
patiently.  "Since  it  is  already  stolen,  I- " 

"Stolen !"  The  Frenchman  stared — and  then  with 
feverish  fingers  opened  the  bag.  He  looked  inside. 
The  bag  dropped  to  the  floor,  his  hands  went  up  in 
the  air.  "It  is  empty — empty !"  he  cried  distractedly. 
"It  is  gone — gone!  Mon  Dieu,  my  radium  is  gone! 
What  shall  I  do !"  His  hands  were  rumpling  through 


202  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

his  hair  like  one  demented.  "What  shall  I  do — it  is 
gone!" 

"Well,"  suggested  the  Hawk  suavely,  "I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  like  to  buy  it  back  again." 

"Buy  it  back!  Are  you  crazy?  Am  I  crazy?" 
The  man  appeared  to  be  beside  himself;  he  flung 
out  his  arms  in  mad  gesticulation.  "With  what 
would  I  buy  it  back?  It  is  worth  a  hundred  thou- 
sands dollars — a  half  million  francs!" 

"You  are  excited,  Doctor  Meunier,"  said  the 
Hawk  calmly.  From  where  it  bulged  under  his  coat 
he  drew  out  the  black  bag.  "I  said  nothing  about  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars." 

The  Frenchman  reached  out  a  shaking  hand,  point- 
ing at  the  bag. 

"It  is  you  then,  after  all,  who  stole  it — eh?  The 
bags — they  are  identical!  Mon  Dieu,  what  does 
this  mean?  I  am  mad!  I  do  not  understand!" 

There  was  a  chair  on  each  side  of  the  small  table 
near  the  bed. 

"Sit  down !"  invited  the  Hawk,  indicating  one  with 
the  muzzle  of  his  automatic.  The  Frenchman  sat 
down  with  a  helpless  and  abandoned  gesture  of  de- 
spair. The  Hawk  took  the  other  chair.  He  opened 
the  bag,  opened  the  lead  box,  and  laid  the  lead  cap- 
sule on  the  table.  "Do  you  identify  this?"  he  in- 
quired pleasantly. 

The  Frenchman  reached  for  it  eagerly. 

The  Hawk  drew  it  back. 

"One  moment,  please,  Doctor  Meunier!"  he  mur« 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  203 

mured.  "You  recognise  it?  You  are  satisfied  that 
it  is  your  tube  of  radium?" 

"Yes,  yes — mon  Dleu!    But,  yes  I" 

"And  it  is  worth,  you  say,  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars?" 

"But,  yes,  I  tell  you!"  cried  the  Frenchman.  "A 
hundred  thousand — certainly,  it  is  worth  that!" 

"Quite  so !"  said  the  Hawk  placidly.  "Therefore, 
Doctor  Meunier,  a  comparatively  small  sum — eh? — 
you  would  be  willing  to  pay  that — a  sum,  I  might 
add,  that  would  be  quite  within  your  means." 

"Quite  within  my  means?"  repeated  the  French- 
man a  little  dazedly. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hawk  sweetly.  "And  to  be  spe- 
cific, let  us  say — whatever  is  in  your  pocketbook." 

The  Frenchman  drew  back  in  his  chair.  His  face 
blanched. 

"You — you  mean  to  rob  mel"  he  exclaimed 
hoarsely. 

"I  do  not  see  it  quite  in  that  light."  The  Hawk's 
voice  was  pained.  "But  we  will  not  discuss  the  ethics 
involved — we  probably  should  not  agree.  I  did  not 
steal  your  precious  capsule  from  you,  and  I  am  re- 
turning it,  not,  I  might  say,  without  having  incurred 
considerable  personal  risk  in  so  doing.  Perhaps  we 
might  better  agree  if  we  called  it — a  reward." 

"No !"  said  the  Frenchman  desperately. 

The  Hawk's  automatic  tapped  the  table  top  with  a 
hint  of  petulance. 

"And — and  what  guarantee  have  I,"  the  French- 


204  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

man  burst  out,  "that  you  will  give  me  the  tube  after 
you  have  taken  my  money?" 

"My  word,"  said  the  Hawk  evenly.  "And — I 
am  waiting,  Doctor  Meunier!" 

The  Frenchman  hesit?ted,  then,  with  an  oath, 
flung  his  pocketbook  upon  the  table.  The  Hawk 
opened  it,  extracted  the  wad  of  bills  that  he  had  seen 
exhibited  in  the  superintendent's  office,  smiled  as  he 
fingered  them,  and  put  them  in  his  pocket.  He  pushed 
the  lead  capsule  acros-  the  table — and  suddenly,  as 
the  other  reached  for  it,  the  Hawk  was  on  his  feet, 
his  automatic  flung  forward,  his  left  hand  grasping 
the  other's  sleeve. 

They  held  that  way  for  an  instant,  eying  each 
other — the  Hawk's  left  hand  slowly  pushing  back  the 
other's  right-hand  sleeve.  And  then  the  Hawk's  eyes 
shifted — to  a  long,  jagged,  white  scar  on  the  bare 
forearm  just  above  the  wrist. 

"Shall  I  introduce  myself — Parson  Joe?"  purred 
the  Hawk. 

The  other's  face  was  a  mottled  red — it  deepened 
to  purple. 

"No,  blast  you!"  he  said  between  his  teeth.  "I 
know  you — but  I  didn't  think  you  knew  me.  So  you 
called  the  turn  when  the  Bantam  followed  me — eh?" 

The  Hawk  shook  his  head. 

"I  never  saw  you  in  my  life  before  to-day,"  he 
said  grimly;  "and,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good  to 
know  it,  I  fell  for  that  radium  plant — until  you  tele- 
phoned the  Butcher  half  an  hour  ago." 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  205 

"And  how  did  you  know  me,  then?"  The  other 
flung  the  question  fiercely. 

Again  the  Hawk  shook  his  head.  He  had  no  de- 
sire that  Parson  Joe  should  know  he  had  been  on 
the  Limited  that  morning — Parson  Joe  might  pos- 
sess an  inconveniently  retentive  memory  for  faces, 
and  he,  the  Hawk,  did  not  always  wear  a  mask. 

"Maybe  I  guessed  it,  Parson!"  he  said  insolently. 
"I  must  have — it  was  the  only  thing  that  wasn't  in 
the  paper!  What  encyclopedia  did  you  get  that 
'Becquerel  burn'  dope  out  of?  And  was  the  reporter 
lying,  or  how  did  you  work  it  to  get  him  on  the 
train?" 

Parson  Joe  was  leaning  forward  over  the  table, 
fingering  the  lead  capsule.  He  suddenly  crushed  it 
with  a  blow  of  his  fist,  twisted  it  in  two,  and  hurled 
the  pieces  across  the  floor. 

"We  got  him  up  the  line  on  a  fake  that  didn't 
come  off!"  he  snarled. 

There  was  an  instant's  silence,  then  the  Hawk 
spoke. 

"Nice,  amiable  crowd,  you  are,  Parson!"  The 
Hawk's  voice  was  silken.  "I'm  just  beginning  to 
appreciate  you.  Let's  see !  You  had  to  pull  a  story 
that  any  newspaper  would  jump  at  and  feature, 
didn't  you?  And  you  had  to  have  a  big  enough  bait 
to  make  sure  I'd  rise  to  it.  And  you  had  to  account 
for  the  celebrated  Doctor  Meunier's  layover  in  Sel- 
kirk; and,  not  expecting  I'd  pick  up  the  trail  quite 
so  quickly,  say,  not  until  after  the  paper  had  been 
out  a  little  longer  and  you  had  made  another  baiting 


206  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

trip  or  two  to  Lanson's  office,  you  had  to  account 
for  the  famous  gentleman's  enforced  stay  through 
the  night  if  necessary;  and  it  gave  a  big  swing  to  the 
story,  and  let  you  work  your  stunt  for  the  special 
train  that  you  knew  you  couldn't  get;  and  you  figured 
I'd  be  even  more  sure  to  see  it  in  the  paper  if  it  was 
connected  with  some  pleasant  little  episode  of  yours 
— and  so,  on  several  counts,  you  blew  up  the  bridge." 

The  man's  teeth  were  clamped  together. 

"Yes !"  he  choked.  "And  we'd  blow  a  dozen  more 
to  get  you !" 

"You  flatter  me!"  said  the  Hawk  dryly.  "I'm 
afraid  I've  put  you  to  quite  a  little  trouble — for 
nothing!" 

Sullen,  red,  furious,  Parson  Joe's  face  twitched. 

"You  win  to-night" — the  heavy-lensed  spectacles 
were  off,  and  the  black  eyes,  the  pupils  gone,  burned 
on  the  Hawk — "but  you're  going  out!  As  sure  as 
God  gave  you  breath,  we'll  get  you  yet,  and " 

"The  Butcher  told  me  that,  and  so  did  the  Cricket 
— some  time  ago,"  said  the  Hawk  wearily.  "I'm — 
keep  your  hands  above  the  table — I'm  sure  you 
mean  well!"  He  was  backing  toward  the  door.  "I 
won't  bother  to  relieve  you  of  your  revolver;  and  I 
don't  think  you'll  telephone  down  to  the  office.  It 
might  be  awkward  explaining  to  the  pc^ce  how  Doc- 
tor Meunier  lost  his  pocketbook — and  got  his  medi- 
cal degree!  I  shall,  however,  lock  the  door  on  the 
outside,  as  I  shall  require  a  minute  or  two  to  reach 
the  street,  and  I  cannot  very  well  go  through  the  ho- 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR  207 

tel  corridor  with — this" — he  jerked  his  hand  toward 
his  mask. 

The  other's  hands  were  above  the  table,  obedient- 
ly in  plain  view — but  they  were  clenching  and  un- 
clenching now,  the  knuckles  white. 

The  Hawk  reached  behind  him,  took  the  key  from 
the  lock,  listened,  opened  the  door  slightly,  and,  still 
facing  into  the  room,  still  covering  the  other  with  his 
automatic,  reached  around  the  door  and  fitted  the  key 
into  the  outside  of  the  lock. 

"When  you  get  out,"  said  the  Hawk,  as  though  it 
were  an  afterthought,  "I'm  sure  the  Butcher  will 
be  glad  to  see  you — I  am  afraid  he  is  not  as  com- 
fortable as  he  might  be !" 

The  black  eyes,  with  a  devil's  fury  in  them2  had 
never  left  the  Hawk's.  And  now  the  other  lifted 
one  of  his  clenched  hands  above  his  head. 

"I'd  give  five  years — five  years  of  my  life — for  a 
look  at  your  face!"  he, whispered  hoarsely. 

The  Hawk  was  backing  through  the  door. 

"It's  not  enough,  Parson,"  he  said  softly.  "Make 
it  another — pocketbook." 


—  XIV  — 

THE   CLUE 


Y~  "^WO  days  had  passed — two  days,  and  a 
night.  The  Hawk's  fingers  drummed  ab- 
stractedly without  sound  on  the  table  top ; 

-^-  his  eyes,  in  a  curiously  introspective  stare, 
were  fixed  on  the  closely  drawn  window  shade  across 
the  room.  From  the  ill-favoured  saloon  below  his 
unpretentious  lodgings,  there  came,  muffled,  a  chor- 
us of  voices  in  inebriated  and  discordant  song — an 
over-early  evening  celebration,  for  it  was  barely 
seven  o'clock. 

The  finger  tips  drummed  on.  At  times,  the  strong, 
square  chin  was  doggedly  -outthrust;  at  times,  a 
frown  gathered  in  heavy  furrows  on  the  Hawk's 
forehead.  The  net  at  last  was  beginning  to  tighten 
ominously — every  sign  pointed  to  it.  He  would  be 
a  blind  fool  indeed  who  could  not  read  the  warning, 
and  a  fool  of  fools  who  would  not  heed  it ! 

His  eyes  strayed  from  the  window,  and  rested 
upon  the  trunk  that  stood  between  the  table  and  the 
foot  of  the  bed;  and  his  fingers  abruptly  ceased  their 
restless  movements.  Within  that  trunk,  concealed 
in  its  false  lid,  was  the  loot,  totalling  many  thousands 
of  dollars,  obtained  through  his  knowledge  of  the 

208 


THE  CLUE  209 

Wire  Devils'  secret  code,  which  had  enabled  him  to 
turn  their  elaborately  prepared  plans  on  more  occa- 
sions than  one  to  his  own  account.  But  it  was  no 
longer  a  question  of  outwitting  them  in  order  to  add 
to  that  purloined  store;  it  was  a  question  of  out- 
witting them  in  order  that — in  very  plain  English — 
he,  the  Hawk,  might  live! 

Nor  was  it  the  Wire  Devils  alone  who  threatened 
disaster.  There  were  other  factors;  and,  even  if 
these  factors  were  less  imminent,  as  it  were,  less  in 
a  measure  to  be  feared,  they  were  by  no  means  to  be 
ignored.  The  police  were  showing  increasing  ac- 
tivity. The  police  circular,  which  he  had  once  torn 
down  from  the  station  wall,  was  now  replaced  by 
another,  only  with  this  difference  that,  where  the  re- 
ward for  the  Hawk's  capture  had  then  stood  at  five 
thousand  dollars,  it  now  stood  at  ten.  Also,  last 
night — quite  inadvertently ! — while  crouched  under 
the  window  of  the  turner's  "cubbyhole"  at  the  rear 
of  the  roundhouse,  the  chosen  spot  for  Lanson's  and 
MacVightie's  confidential  conferences,  he  had  over- 
heard a  conversation  between  the  division  superin- 
tendent and  the  head  of  the  railroad's  detective  force 
that  was  certainly  not  intended  for  his  ears.  Accord- 
ing to  MacVightie,  a  man  by  the  name  of  Birks,  the 
sharpest  man  in  the  United  States  Secret  Service, 
had  been  detailed  by  the  Washington  authorities  to 
the  case.  MacVightie  had  even  taken  a  generous 
share  of  the  credit  for  this  move  to  himself.  Thefts 
there  might  be  until  the  country  rang  with  them, 
murders  might  add  their  quota  to  the  reign  of  terror, 


210  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

yet  all  this  was  outside  the  province  of  the  Secret 
Service.  It  was,  so  MacVightie  had  said,  through 
MacVightie's  insistence  that  the  systematised  thefts 
and  murders  were  inseparable  with  the  counterfeit 
notes  then  flooding  the  country  that  had  induced 
Washington  to  act.  The  Hawk  and  his  gang,  ac- 
cording to  MacVightie  again,  were  at  the  bottom  of 
both  one  and  the  other — and  counterfeiting  was, 
very  pertinently,  within  the  province  of  the  Secret 
Service  I 

The  Hawk  permitted  a  twisted  smile  to  flicker 
across  his  lips.  MacVightie,  the  police  in  general, 
and  Birks  of  the  Secret  Service  in  particular,  might 
be  classed  as  complications,  even  decidedly  awkward 
complications,  but  his  immediate  peril  lay,  not  in  that 
direction,  but  from  those  whose  leadership  Mac- 
Vightie so  blandly  credited  to — the  Hawk! 

The  smile  twisted  deeper — into  one  of  grim  irony. 
While  MacVightie  placarded  the  country  with  cir- 
culars offering  rewards  for  the  capture  of  the  Hawk 
and  his  gang,  the  "gang"  was  moving  heaven  and 
earth  to  capture  the  Hawk  for  its  own  exclusive  pur- 
poses— which  purposes,  in  a  word,  were  an  intense 
desire  to  recover  the  proceeds  of  the  robberies  that 
he,  the  Hawk,  had  filched  from  under  the  gang's 
nose,  and  thereafter,  with  such  finality  as  might  be 
afforded  by  a  blackjack,  a  knife  thrust,  or  a  revolver 
bullet,  to  expedite  the  Hawk's  departure  from  this 
vale  of  tears! 

The  Hawk's  hand  curled  suddenly  into  a  clenched 
fist,  and  his  face  grew  set.  He  was  facetious — and 


THE  CLUE 

he  had  little  enough  warrant  for  f acetiousness !  They 
had  already  shown  their  teeth.  They  had  shown  the 
grim,  ugly  deadlines*  of  their  challenge  in  the  thrust 
with  which  they  had  opened  their  attack  upon  him. 
He  had  parried  the  thrust,  it  was  true — but  there 
would  be  another — and  another.  There  was  some- 
thing of  remorseless  promise,  that  would  stop  at 
nothing,  in  the  extravagantly  laid  plans  with  which 
they  had  just  attempted  to  lure  him  into  the  open  and 
trap  him.  They  had  failed,  it  was  true,  and  he  had 
even  scored  against  them  again — but  their  cunning, 
their  power,  their  resources,  their  malignity  remained 
unimpaired.  They  would  try  again.  It  was  like  two 
adversaries  in  a  dark  room,  each  conscious  of  the 
other's  presence,  each  striving  to  place  the  other, 
each  conscious  that  the  death  of  one  was  life  for 
the  other.  That  was  the  pith  of  the  situation. 

The  Hawk's  teeth  clamped  together.  It  was  quite 
certain  that  they  would  run  him  to  earth — unless  he 
were  first  at  the  same  game !  An  organisation  as 
widespread  as  the  one  against  which  he  had  elected 
to  pit  his  wits  and  play  a  lone  hand,  an  organisation 
clever  enough  to  have  seized  and  put  to  its  own  use 
the  entire  divisional  telegraph  system  of  a  railroad, 
an  organisation  callous  enough  to  have  counted  a 
score  of  murders  but  incidents  in  its  schemes,  and, 
above  all,  an  organisation  guided  by  an  unknown 
brain  that  was  a  master  of  cunning  and  unhampered 
by  scruples,  was  an  antagonist  as  sinister  as  it  was 
powerful.  For  days  now,  in  the  great  majority  of 
cases,  he,  the  Hawk,  had  turned  their  plans  to  his 


212  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

own  account,  skimmed,  as  it  were,  the  cream  from 
their  milk — and  there  could  be  but  one  answer.  And 
they  had  answered — and  in  the  opening  attack  they 
had  just  launched  against  him  it  was  obvious  enough 
that  every  resource  at  their  command  was  to  be 
thrown  into  the  balance  to  settle  scores  with  him. 
They  might,  and  did,  laugh  at  the  police,  but  to 
have. their  prizes  pocketed  and  carried  off  by  a  com- 
petitor admitted  of  but  one  solution — the  annihila- 
tion of  the  competitor ! 

The  Hawk  rose  abruptly  from  his  seat,  stepped 
over  to  the  trunk,  opened  it,  and  in  an  instant  had 
removed  the  secret  tray  from  the  curvature  of  the 
lid.  He  laid  the  tray  down  upon  the  table ;  and  his 
fingers,  brushing  aside  a  certain  magnificent  diamond 
necklace  whose  thousand  facets  glittered  in  the  light, 
delved  swiftly  in  amongst  pile  after  pile  of  bank- 
notes, and  secured  a  package  of  papers. 

He  pushed  the  tray  to  one  side,  sat  down  again 
at  the  table,  removed  the  elastic  band  from  the 
package,  and  began  to  examine  the  papers.  It  was 
not  the  first  time  he  had  done  this — he  did  it  again 
now  in  a  sort  of  desperation,  and  simply  because  it 
presented  the  one  possibility  at  which  he  might  grasp 
in  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  clue.  There  were  many 
papers  here,  loose  sheets,  documents  in  envelopes, 
and,  careful  as  he  had  been  before,  there  was  a 
chance  that  he  had  missed  the  one  thing — in  a  sen- 
tence, in  perhaps  only  a  word,  or  a  pencilled  note 
on  the  back  of  an  envelope — that  would  save  him 
from  disaster  new. 


THE  CLUE  213 

It  was  the  night  before  last  that  Parson  Joe,  with 
his  fake  tube  of  radium,  had  headed  the  gang  in  the 
attempt  upon  his,  the  Hawk's,  life.  The  twisted 
smile  returned  to  the  Hawk's  lips,  as  he  turned  first 
one  paper  and  then  another  over  in  his  hands.  He 
had  been  fool  enough  to  imagine  that,  besides  fail- 
ure, they  had  left  a  well-marked  and  clearly  defined 
trail  behind  them — in  the  shape  of  that  very  com- 
fortably, very  cosily  furnished  house  just  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  where  the  Butcher  had  proposed 
to  play  the  role  of  spider  to  his,  the  Hawk's,  role 
of  fly!  It  had  even  seemed  a  childishly  simple  mat- 
ter to  pick  up  such  a  thread  and  follow  it.  A  house 
was  neither  rented  nor  furnished  out  of  thin  air. 
But  the  next  morning  the  house  was  closed  and  de- 
serted. It  had  been  sublet — furnished.  The  sub- 
tenant, whose  name  was  of  no  consequence,  since  it 
was  of  course  assumed,  had  vanished — that  was  all. 
As  far  as  the  gang  was  concerned  the  house  had  lost 
its  usefulness,  and,  having  lost  its  usefulness,  had 
simply  been  evacuated,  and,  together  with  the  furni- 
ture, left  to  its  own  resources  I 

And  it  had  been  the  same,  on  a  previous  occasion, 
with  Isaac  Kirschell's  office.  The  morning  after  he, 
the  Hawk,  had  appropriated  the  contents  of  Kir- 
schell's cash  box  and  had  recognised  Kirschell  as  one 
of  the  gang,  the  suite  of  rooms  in  the  office  building 
had  been  vacant. 

The  Hawk  withdrew  the  last  paper  in  the  pile 
from  its  envelope,  and  read  it  with  a  sort  of  miser- 
able realisation  that  its  perusal,  like  the  others,  was 


214  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

foredoomed  to  futility.  It  was  an  alleged  mortgage, 
spurious,  of  course,  for  these  were  Kirschell's  papers 
that  had  been  in  the  cash  box,  and,  in  the  very  nature 
of  things,  Kirschell's  business  had  been  only  a  blind 
to  cover  a  sort  of  branch  headquarters  for  the  gang. 
He  read  it  through,  however,  doggedly — and  for  his 
pains  the  printed  words  in  their  precise  legal  phrase- 
ology seemed  to  mock  at  him  and  chuckle  with  devil- 
ishly perverted  humour. 

He  tossed  the  document  upon  the  table,  and,  his 
face  strained,  pushed  back  his  chair,  got  up,  and  be- 
gan to  pace  the  length  of  the  room  with  a  tread  that, 
in  its  quick,  nervous  litheness  and  its  silence,  was 
like  the  pacing  of  a  panther  in  its  cage. 

Nothing!  And  yet  there  must  be  something — 
somewhere!  It  was  his  move  now,  and  there  was 
little  time  to  spare.  It  had  become  simply  a  ques- 
tion of  which  of  the  two,  he  or  the  gang,  would 
win  this  game  of  blindman's-buff.  It  no  longer  suf- 
ficed that  he  should  intercept  those  secret  code  mes- 
sages in  the  former  haphazard  way,  for,  consistently 
as  he  had  haunted  the  telegraph  sounders,  he  was 
well  enough  aware  that  he  must  of  necessity  have 
missed  many  of  the  messages.  He  could  afford  to 
miss  none  of  them  now.  Formerly,  a  message 
missed  meant  but  a  lost  opportunity  to  thwart  their 
plans,  to  add  a  little  more  to  the  cojitents  of  the 
trunk's  false  lid;  now,  since  they  had  shown  that 
they  would  stop  at  nothing  to  trap  him,  his  life  was 
dependent  on  having,  with  certainty,  foreknowledge 
of  their  every  plan.  His  defense  lay  in  attack.  He 


THE  CLUE  215 

must  trace  those  messages  to  their  source,  and  trace 
them  quickly  before  the  Wire  Devils  should  strike 
again,  or  leave  the  field  to  the  Wire  Devils — in  other 
words,  quit  and  run  for  it ! 

"Quit  I"  It  was  the  first  sound  the  Hawk  had 
made,  and  it  was  only  a  whisper — but  the  whisper 
was  gritted  out  through  set  teeth.  Quit  I  He 
laughed  a  little,  low,  with  menace,  without  mirth. 
It  was  not  an  alternative — it  was  the  sting  of  a 
curling  whip-lash  to  spur  him  on. 

Well?  What  was  he  to  do  then?  It  was  his 
move — and  there  was  no  time  to  spare.  He  ap- 
proached the  table  again,  and  began  to  rearrange 
the  papers  into  a  pile,  preparatory  to  replacing  them 
in  the  tray.  It  was  veritably  a  game  of  blindman's- 
buff !  They  knew  him  through  personal  contact,  but 
only  as  a  man  who  had  always  been  masked;  he  knew 
many  of  them,  and  knew  them  personally — but  only 
in  the  play-off  of  their  schemes,  when  he  had,  as  it 
were,  snatched  the  plunder  from  their  hands  as  he 
made  his  own  escape,  had  he  ever  seen  any  of  them. 
Well — the  question  came  again,  more  insistent,  more 
imperative,  more  vital — well,  his  life  was  in  the  bal- 
ance, what  was  he  to  do?  Go  out  again  to-night 
and  haunt  a  telegraph  sounder,  trust  to 

He  turned  suddenly,  the  spurious  mortgage,  and 
the  long  envelope  that  had  contained  it,  in  his  hand. 
The  document,  for  some  reason  or  other,  refused  to 
fit  into  the  envelope  as  neatly  or  as  readily  as  it  had 
previously  done.  He  held  the  envelope  up  to  the 
light — and  the  next  instant,  flinging  the  document 


216  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

down  on  the  table,  he  had  ripped  the  envelope  apart, 
and  from  under  the  inner  flap,  where  it  had  undoubt- 
edly been  forced  by  the  document  itself  and  after- 
wards, as  he  had  handled  the  envelope,  had  obviously 
worked  its  way  partially  out  again,  he  extracted  a 
small,  thin  slip  of  yellow  paper. 

And  then  for  a  moment  the  Hawk  stood  motion- 
less, but  into  the  dark  eyes  there  leaped  a  triumphant 
flash.  In  his  hand  was  the  return  portion  of  a  rail- 
road ticket  that  read: 

Conmore  to  Selkirk  City. 

He  whipped  the  ticket  over  to  scrutinise  the  date 
stamp  on  the  back — it  was  that  of  the  day  prior  to  his 
visit  to  Kirschell's  office.  And  he  laughed  a  little 
again,  but  there  was  no  bitterness  in  the  laugh  now. 
The  clue  that  he  had  sought,  the  clue  that  Lanson's 
men  had  in  vain  patrolled  and  scoured  the  division's 
right  of  way  to  obtain,  was  in  his  possession. 

"It  fits — like  a  glove !"  muttered  the  Hawk,  with 
grim  complacence.  "Kirschell  had  the  envelope  in 
his  pocket,  of  course,  and  in  putting  his  return  ticket 
in  his  pocket  it  slipped  into  the  envelope  without  his 
knowing  it,  got  crowded  under  the  flap,  and  he 
thought  he  had  lost  it!"  The  Hawk  turned  sharply 
to  the  table.  "Conmore — eh?"  He  was  working 
with  feverish  haste  now,  replacing  the  papers  in  the 
tray,  and  fitting  the  tray  back  into  the  curvature  of 
the  trunk  lid.  "Number  Thirty-Eight,  if  she's  on 
time,  is  due  at  seven-thirty."  He  pulled  out  his 
watch.  "Seven-twenty I  Conmore — eh?"  The  light 


THE  CLUE  217 

was  out,  the  door  locked  behind  him.  "That's  twenty 
miles  east  of  here,  and  between  here  and  Bald 
Creek."  He  was  out  of  the  house  now,  and  running 
along  the  lane  that  gave  on  the  station  street.  "Yes," 
said  the  Hawk  again,  and  there  was  suppressed  ela- 
tion in  his  voice,  "it  fits!  It  fits — like  a  glove!" 

The  Hawk  reached  the  station,  and  purchased  a 
ticket;  but,  as  usual,  the  ticket  did  not  indicate  his 
destination — it  read,  not  to  Conmore,  but  to  several 
stations  farther  along  the  line.  The  local  pulled  in 
on  time.  As  it  pulled  out  again,  the  Hawk,  having 
appropriated  the  rear  seat  of  the  smoker,  lighted, 
though  he  inclined  little  toward  that  particular  form 
of  tobacco,  a  cigar. 

His  slouch  hat  was  jerked  a  little  forward  over  his 
eyes.  He  settled  back  in  his  seat.  Like  links  in  a 
chain,  the  keen,  alert  brain  was  welding  the  events 
of  the  days  gone  by  into  a  concrete  whole.  The 
headquarters  of  the  gang,  the  heart  of  the  web  from 
which  the  Wire  Devils  operated  was,  logically,  as 
he  had  known,  as  MacVightie  had  known,  outside 
the  city,  where  the  telegraph  line  could  be  tapped 
without  observation  and  at  will.  MacVightie's  in- 
itial and  only  attempt  to  "ground  out"  the  "tap"  had 
indicated  that  the  wire  was  being  tampered  with 
between  Selkirk  and  Bald  Creek.  Conmore  was  be- 
tween Selkirk  and  Bald  Creek.  And  what  interest 
could  Kirschell,  a  New  York  crook,  have  in  a  place 
like  Conmore,  that  was  little  more  than  a  hamlet? 
What,  then,  had  prompted  Kirschell's  trip  to  Con- 
more  and  return?  The  Hawk  smiled  whimsically. 


218  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

It  was  not  proof  absolute,  but  in  his  own  mind  it 
proof  quite  sufficient.  Kirschell's  visit  to  Conmore 
had  been  a  visit  to  the  headquarters  of  the  gang. 
Also,  material  proof  apart,  he  sensed  intuitively 
that  he  had  struck  the  right  trail.  Those  messages, 
keeping  the  unknown  brain  that  schemed  and  plot- 
ted each  move  in  instant  touch  with  every  unit  of 
the  widespread  organisation,  making  it  possible  for 
them  to  strike  at  a  moment's  warning  at  any  point 
over  a  hundred  miles  of  country,  emanated — from 
Conmore. 

The  train  stopped  at  a  station,  and  went  on  again. 
The  Hawk  nursed  his  cigar  sedulously,  and  stared 
out  of  the  window.  Twenty  minutes  went  by.  And 
then  the  train  stopped  again — at  Conmore. 

The  Hawk  did  not  move,  save  that  his  eyes  rested 
casually  on  a  passenger  who  was  making  a  hurried 
and  belated  dash  for  the  door.  It  was  quite  possible 
that  the  man  was  not  one  of  the  gang,  and  equally 
possible  that  the  man  was — he,  the  Hawk,  did  not 
recognise  the  other.  But  he  would  do  the  Wire 
Devils  less  than  justice  to  credit  them  with  lack  of 
interest  in  passengers  for  Conmore — or  in  any  oc- 
cupant of  any  car  who  might  have  left  his  seat  and 
found  the  platform  attractive,  say,  just  before  Con- 
more  was  reached!  If  the  man  was  a  spy,  then — 
well — the  Hawk  smiled  at  his  now  burned-to-the-butt 
cigar — the  man  would  have  little  to  report! 

The  train  jerked  forward  into  motion  again.  The 
station  was  on  the  same  side  as  the  Hawk's  seat — 
the  Hawk  did  not  look  out  of  the  window,  but  he 


THE  CLUE  219 

was  far  from  being  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  no 
platform  lights  had  shown  through  the  car  win- 
dows on  the  opposite  side  of  the  aisle.  The  speed 
increased  a  little,  but  still  the  Hawk  did  not  stir. 
The  train  rattled  over  the  east-end  siding  switch  of 
the  Conmore  yard.  And  then  the  Hawk  rose  lan- 
guidly, tossed  his  cigar  butt  into  the  cuspidor, 
brushed  a  very  noticeable  quantity  of  cigar  ash  from 
his  vest,  paused  for  a  drink  at  the  water-cooler,  and, 
as  though,  his  smoke  finished,  he  was  seeking  the 
clearer  atmosphere  of  a  rear  car,  opened  the  door, 
and  stepped  out  on  the  platform. 

The  Hawk  dropped  to  the  right  of  way  from  the 
side  of  the  train  opposite  to  that  of  the  station, 
landed  as  sure-footed  as  a  cat,  flung  himself  in- 
stantly flat  down  at  the  edge  of  the  embankment, 
and  lay  still.  The  local  racketed  its  way  past — the 
red  tail-lights  winked,  and  vanished — and  there  fell 
a  silence,  a  drowsy  night  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  chirp  of  insects  and  the  far-distant  mutter  of  the 
receding  train.  The  Hawk  raised  his  head,  and 
looked  about  him.  A  few  hundred  yards  away  glint- 
ed the  station  semaphore  and  window  lights ;  the  sid- 
ing switch  light,  nearer,  showed  green  like  a  huge 
glowing  emerald  in  the  black;  there  was  nothing  else. 
There  was  no  sign  of  habitation — nothing — the  lit- 
tle hamlet  lay  hidden  in  a  hollow  a  mile  away  on  the 
station  side  of  the  track. 


1 


—  XV  — 

THE    LADYBIRD 

Hawk  rose,  and  began  to  move  for- 
ward. Conmore  was  certainly  an  ideal- 
istic spot — from  the  Wire  Devils'  stand- 
point! He  frowned  a  little.  There  was 
no  doubt  in  his  mind  but  that  in  a  general  way  he 
had  solved  the  problem,  that  somewhere  in  this 
vicinity  the  right  of  way  held  the  wire  tappers' 
secret;  but,  as  he  was  well  aware,  his  difficulties  were 
far  from  at  an  end,  and  that  particular  spot  might  be 
anywhere  within  several  miles  of  Conmore,  and  it 
might,  with  equal  reason,  be  east  or  west  of  the  sta- 
tion. And  then  the  Hawk  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
The  night  was  early  yet,  early  enough  to  enable  him 
to  cover  several  miles  of  track  on  both  sides  of  the 
station,  if  necessary,  before  daylight  came.  If  he 
had  luck  with  him,  he  was  on  the  right  side  now;  if 
not,  then,  by  midnight,  he  would  start  in  on  the  other. 
It  required  the  exercise  of  a  little  philosophical  pa- 
tience, nothing  more. 

It  was  black  along  the  track — a  black  night,  no 
moon,  no  stars.  And  it  was  silent.  A  half  hour 
passed.  Like  a  shadow,  and  as  silent  as  one,  the 
Hawk  moved  forward — from  telegraph  pole  to  tele- 

220 


THE  LADYBIRD 

graph  pole.  A  pin  point  of  light  showed  far  down 
the  right  of  way,  grew  larger,  brighter,  more  lumi- 
nous— and  the  Hawk  sought  refuge,  crouched  be- 
neath a  culvert,  as  a  big  ten-wheeler  and  its  string 
of  coaches,  trucks  beating  at  the  fishplates,  quick 
like  the  tattoo  of  a  snare  drum,  roared  by  over  his 
head. 

Still  another  half  hour  passed.  It  was  slow  work. 
He  was  perhaps,  at  most,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the 
Conmore  station.  And  then,  suddenly,  the  Hawk 
dropped  to  his  hands  and  knees  and  crawled  down 
the  embankment,  and  lay  flat  and  motionless  in  the 
grass — faint,  almost  inaudible,  a  footstep  had 
crunched  on  the  gravel  of  the  roadbed  ahead  of  him. 
The  Hawk's  only  movement  now  was  the  tightening 
of  his  fingers  around  the  stock  of  his  automatic,  as, 
out  of  the  blackness,  a  blacker  shape  loomed  up,  and 
a  man  sauntered  by  along  the  track. 

The  Hawk's  lips  compressed  into  a  grim  smile. 
His  caution  had  not  been  exaggerated !  The  Wire 
Devils'  guard !  Luck,  at  least  initial  luck,  was  with 
him,  fh"i!  The  "tap"  was  here  east  of  the  station, 
and  at  •  he  next  pole  probably.  But  it  was  more  than 
likely  that  there  was  another  guard  patrolling  on  the 
other  side.  They  would  certainly  take  no  chances, 
either  of  surprise,  or  of  being  unable  to  dismantle 
their  apparatus  instantly  at  the  first  alarm — and  it 
would  almost  necessarily  require  more  than  one  man 
for  that.  He  crept  forward  again,  and  again  lay 
still.  The  man  on  the  track  returned — passed  by — 
and,  close  to  the  telegraph  pole  now,  two  blurred 


222  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

shapes  showed;  and  then,  low,  there  came  voices, 
and  a  laugh. 

But  now  the  Hawk  was  wriggling  swiftly  away 
from  the  track.  There  was  no  longer  any  need  to 
examine  the  telegraph  poles — the  sense  of  touch 
guiding  him,  he  was  following  an  insulated  wire,  two 
wires,  that  lay  along  the  ground,  and,  following 
these  wires,  he  reached  the  barbed-wire  fence  that 
enclosed  the  right  of  way,  worked  his  *vay  through, 
and  here  paused.  The  wires  had  apparently  disap- 
peared abruptly  into  the  ground. 

For  perhaps  a  minute  the  Hawk  lay  still,  save 
that  his  fingers  worked  and  dug  at  loose  earth;  and 
then,  his  coat  extended  on  either  side  of  him,  he 
raised  himself  an  inch  or  two  from  the  ground,  and, 
beneath  his  body,  his  tiny  flashlight  glowed  for  a 
brief  instant,  and  was  restored  to  his  pocket. 

The  Hawk  began  to  crawl  forward  again.  He 
was  on  the  edge  of  a  ploughed  field — a  piece  of  farm 
land.  It  was  all  very  simple,  and  it  was  very  clear 
now.  In  the  loose  earth  there  was  embedded  a  small, 
rough,  wooden  box.  In  this  receptacle  wac  ?  junc- 
tion box,  and  from  the  junction  box,  through  holes 
bored  in  the  outer  wooden  casing,  the  wires  continued 
on  into  a  small,  flexible  conduit.  The  Hawk  smiled 
grimly.  Lanson,  and  Lanson's  section  men  might 
search  a  thousand  years  and  never  solve  the  prob- 
lem. The  Wire  Devils  were  not  limited  to  any  one 
single  or  particular  telegraph  pole.  They  were  lim- 
ited only  in  the  radius  of  their  operations  by  the 
length  of  the  "tap"  wires  they  used.  They  had  only 


THE  LADYBIRD  223 

to  tap  the  line,  run  their  "tap"  back,  brush  the  loose 
earth  away  from  the  top  of  the  wooden  casing,  open 
the  latter,  connect  with  the  junction  box,  and  their 
"tap"  became  an  integral  part  of  the  railroad's  tele- 
graph system.  It  was  very  simple !  When  they  were 
not  operating — they  reversed  the  process.  They  dis- 
connected from  the  main  line,  coiled  their  "tap" 
wires  up,  hid  them  in  the  wooden  casing,  restored  the 
loose  earth  over  the  latter's  surface,  and,  save  for 
one  of  those  thousands  of  splices  on  the  main  line 
incident  to  years  of  service  and  differing  in  no  way 
from  any  of  its  fellows,  no  sign  or  vestige  of  their 
work  remained.  It  required,  of  course,  a  lineman's 
outfit  and  the  necessary  appliances  for  work  at  the 
top  of  the  telegraph  pole — but  that  the  Wire  Devils 
were  adequately  equipped  in  this  respect  was  so 
obvious  as  to  make  any  consideration  of  that  detail 
absurd.  For  the  rest,  the  little  conduit  laid  in  a 
ploughed  furrow  with  the  earth  spread  back  over  it 
completed  in  perfection  and  simplicity  the  unholy 
little  scheme! 

On  the  Hawk  crawled  across  the  field.  All  this 
premised  a  house,  a  farm  house  probably,  in  the  im- 
mediate vicinity.  The  ploughed  field  must,  of  course, 
never  be  disturbed,  therefore  the  tenancy  of  the 
land  axiomatically  was  for  the  moment  vested  in  the 

Wire  Devils,  and ah!     The  Hawk,  far  enough 

from  the  railroad  now  to  be  secure  from  observation, 
had  risen  from  his  hands  and  knees,  and,  in  a 
crouched  position,  was  moving  forward  more  rap- 
idly. A  small,  wooded  tract  of  land  was  showing 


THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

a  little  way  in  front  of  him;  the  house  undoubtedly 
was  there. 

He  gained  the  trees,  made  his  way  through  what 
appeared  to  be  an  open  grove  of  pines,  and,  on  the 
other  side,  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  halted,  and 
listened  intently.  He  could  just  make  out  a  little 
group  of  buildings — the  house  itself,  a  barn,  and  one 
or  two  smaller  structures,  probably  wagon  and  im- 
plement sheds.  No  light  showed  from  anywhere, 
nor  was  there  any  sound.  Cautiously,  silently,  the 
Hawk  crossed  the  clearing,  and  began  to  circuit  the 
house.  It  was  a  little  strange!  The  place  seemed 
absolutely  deserted.  Had  he  made  a  mistake?  Nat- 
urally, he  could  not  follow  the  direction  of  the  buried 
conduit !  Was  there  another  house  in  the  neighbour- 
hood? He  shook  his  head.  There  might  be  an- 
other house,  many  of  them  for  that  matter,  but  the 
ploughed  field,  from  its  location,  surely  belonged  to 
this  one.  And  yet — he  halted  once  more,  and, 
listening  again  intently,  looked  sharply  about  him. 

He  was  around  on  the  other  side  of  the  house 
now,  and  now  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  one  of  the  low- 
er windows.  It  was  not  the  window  of  a  lighted 
room,  yet  still  a  faint  glow  seemed  to  emanate  most 
curiously  from  it.  He  crept  toward  it,  crouched  be- 
neath it,  listened  again,  then  partially  straightening 
up — the  window  sill  was  but  breast  high — peered  in. 
Of  the  room  itself  he  could  see  nothing — only  the 
dull  glow  of  light,  extremely  faint,  that  came,  he  now 
discovered,  from  an  open  door  across  the  room.  He 
tried  the  window;  and  then,  finding  the  catch  un- 


THE  LADYBIRD  225- 

fastened,  with  a  deft  pressure  of  his  fingers  upon  the1 
sash,  he  began  to  raise  it  slowly,  silently.  ' 

And  now  into  the  Hawk's  dark  eyes  there  leaped 
for  the  second  time  that  night  a  triumphant  flash. 
Yes,  beyond  doubt,  beyond  question,  beyond  cavil, 
here  was  the  heart  of  the  spider's  web  at  last !  Muf- 
fled, low,  indistinct,  barely  audible,  but  equally  un- 
mistakable, there  came  the  clicking  of  a  telegraph 
instrument. 

The  Hawk  drew  his  mask  from  his  pocket,  slipped 
it  over  his  face,  swung  noiselessly  over  the  window 
sill,  and  began  to  creep  across  the  room  toward  the 
opened  door  and  the  glow  of  light.  And,  as  the 
clicking  of  the  sounder  grew  more  distinct  and  there 
mingled  with  it  now  a  murmur  of  voices,  the  Hawk's 
lips  compressed  into  a  thin,  straight  line.  If  he  were 
caught,  if  a  single  inadvertent  sound  betrayed  his 
presence,  it  needed  no  effort  of  the  imagination  to 
picture  what  would  follow.  Death,  if  it  were  sud- 
den, would  be  a  very  merciful  ending — but  it  would 
not  be  death,  if  the  Wire  Devils  could  prevent  it, 
until  they  had  exhausted  every  means,  torture  in- 
genious and  devilish,  for  instance,  to  extort  from  him 
the  whereabouts  of  the  plunder  taken  from  them, 
and  which  they  knew  to  be  in  his  possession.  He  knew 
much  now,  he  knew  their  lair  at  last,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  these  thoughts  flashed  across  his  mind,  he 
was  prompted  to  retreat  again  while  he  had  the 
chance.  An  inner  voice  called  him  a  fool  to  persist; 
another  bade  him  go  on.  But  the  latter  voice  was 
right.  He  knew  much — but  he  did  not  know  enough. 


THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

If  his  life  was  in  peril  in  the  one  sense,  it  was  equally 
in  peril  in  the  other.  He  did  not  know  enough. 
Who,  for  instance,  was  the  master  brain  behind  the, 
organisation?  Where  and  how,  for  instance,  was 
the  next  trap  they  would  set  for  him  to  be  laid? 

Brief  snatches  of  conversation  now  began  to  reach 
the  Hawk,  as  he  drew  nearer  to  the  door: 

".  .  .  Twenty-five  thousand  dollars  .  .  .  Traders' 
National  Bank  .  .  .  superintendent's  car  .  .  .  dummy 
package  .  .  .  counterfeit  seals  .  .  .  that's  all  right,  but 
MacVightie  says  the  Secret  Service  is  sending  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Birks  out  here.  .  .  ." 

And  then  a  voice  at  which  the  Hawk  involuntarily 
held  his  breath,  and  to  which,  at  the  door  now, 
he  listened  in  a  sort  of  stunned  incredulity,  as  though 
he  were  indeed  the  sport  of  his  own  ears.  It  was  a 
very  quiet  voice,  very  soft,  a  velvet  voice,  a  voice 
whose  tones  were  cultured  tones — and  whose  lan- 
guage was  the  language  of  a  pirate  of  the  Spanish 
Main. 

"Time  enough  to  attend  to  this  Birks  personage — 
what  I  want  is  the  Hawk!"  came  in  limpid  tones. 
"And  if  I  were  not  tied  down  here  in  this  damned 
and  double-damned  wheel  chair,  I  would  have  twist- 
ed his  throat  for  him  long  ago.  I  furnish  brains — 
and  I  am  cursed  with  a  miserable,  crawling  mob  of 
gnats  upon  whom  they  are  wasted!  That's  it — 
gnats!  Gnats — insects — moths — anything  that,  if 
shown  the  light,  knows  nothing  but  to  singe  its  own 
wings!"  The  voice  was  not  raised;  it  was  like  a 
mother's,  like  a  woman's  voice,  talking  plaintively 


THE  LADYBIRD  227 

to  a  spoiled  child — but  there  was  something  abso- 
lutely deadly  in  its  inflection. 

uThe  Ladybird!"  The  Hawk's  lips  framed  the 
words  without  sound,  and  in  a  sort  of  numbed  hesi- 
tant way.  "I — I  thought  he  was  dead." 

The  telegraph  sounder  kept  on  spluttering  at  in- 
tervals, but  it  was  only  stray  stuff,  routine  railroad 
business,  going  over  the  wires.  The  Hawk,  flat 
on  the  floor  and  at  one  side  of  the  jamb  now,  stared 
through  the  doorway.  It  was  the  doorway  leading 
to  the  cellar.  The  stairs,  halfway  down,  turned 
abruptly  at  right  angles.  The  Hawk  was  rewarded 
with  a  view  of  the  stone  foundation  wall  of  the  house, 
nothing  more.  But  for  the  moment  the  Hawk  was 
lost  to  his  immediate  surroundings.  The  Hawk's 
criminal  acquaintanceship  was  wide,  varied  and  in- 
timate, and  his  mind  was  still  not  entirely  recovered 
from  the  startled  amazement  which  the  recognition 
of  that  voice  had  brought  him.  He  was  quite  fully 
conversant  with  the  Ladybird's  record — only  he  had 
thought  the  Ladybird  dead! 

The  Ladybird  was  not  an  ordinary  criminal;  in- 
stead of  having  spent  twenty  years  in  Sing  Sing,  as 
was  very  justly  his  due,  the  police  had  spent  those 
twenty  years  in  trying  to  put  him  there — and  the 
Ladybird  was  still  to  know  the  restrictions  of  a 
cage !  Clever,  fearless,  cunning,  Napoleonic  in  the 
scope  and  breadth  of  his  operations,  the  biggest 
scoops  on  the  blotters  of  the  New  York  police,  and, 
higher  up,  on  the  Federal  records,  were  laid  to  the 
Ladybird's  door;  but  always,  somewhere,  the  thread 


228  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

of  evidence  broke — sometimes  not  till  the  door  it- 
self was  reached — but  always  it  broke;  the  thread 
had  never  crossed  the  threshold.  The  man  himself 
was  highly  educated,  a  man  now  well  on  toward  fifty. 
In  the  underworld  there  were  a  thousand  different 
stories  of  his  early  life — that  he  had  been  a  profes- 
sor of  science  in  a  great  university;  that  he  came 
of  a  rich  family  high  up  in  the  social  scale;  that  he 
had  been,  in  fact,  everything  that  the  spice  of  imag- 
ination could  supply  to  enhance  the  glamour  that  sur- 
rounded him  in  the  sordid  empire  of  Crimeland, 
where  so  many  were  his  followers  and  worshippers. 
But  here,  too,  the  thread  was  broken.  None  knew 
who  he  had  been;  none  knew  where  he  had  come 
from.  They  knew  him  only  as  one  who  was  invul- 
nerable against  the  attacks  and  efforts  of  the  police, 
as  a  peer  of  their  own  unholy  realm,  as  one  whose 
name  was  a  name  to  conjure  with — for  in  the  name, 
the  "moniker"  they  themselves  had  given  the  Lady- 
bird on  account  of  his  effeminate  voice  and  manner, 
derision  was  neither  intended  nor  implied.  There 
were  limits  and  bounds  to  even  the  underworld's 
temerity,  and  none  knew  better  than  the  underworld 
the  sinister  incongruity  of  those  effeminate  charac- 
teristics. Where  another  might  bellow  and  roar  his 
rage,  and  threaten,  the  Ladybird  lisped  his  words — 
and  struck. 

But  he,  the  Hawk,  had  thought  the  Ladybird 
dead !  The  man  had  been  badly  hurt  a  year  ago  in 
a  railroad  accident  somewhere  in  the  East,  and  the 
report  had  spread,  and  had  been  credited  even  in 


THE  LADYBIRD  229 

the  inner  circles  of  the  underworld,  that  he  was  dead. 
The  Hawk's  lips  twisted  grimly.  The  Ladybird 
had  seen  to  it  evidently  that  the  report  was  not  de- 
nied! And  so,  instead,  the  man  was  a  cripple  now, 
weaving  his  plots,  and  scheming  with  that  black, 
cunning  brain  of  his  from  a  wheel  chair!  Well, 

he 

The  Hawk  reached  quickly  into  his  pocket  for 
pencil  and  paper — there  would  be  just  light  enough 
to  enable  him  to  see.  The  sounder  was  rattling  a 
brisk,  tattoo,  but  it  was  no  longer  stray  stuff.  The 
message,  in  quick,  sure  "sending,"  was  coming  in 
the  Wire  Devils'  secret  code.  Letter  by  letter  the 
Hawk  jotted  it  down: 

"plloctfbmezbyqetbqfslkgqmbokufecsrfijojeremb 
sthfgsbkbnfebvwqjduuvsfpqxwfsnlipbouflmnfsbg 
jeborrettjupujohllsppn." 

The  sounder  ceased  abruptly.  There  was  silence. 
The  Hawk  replaced  pencil  and  paper  in  his  pocket. 
The  minutes  passed — the  message  was  evidently  be- 
ing decoded.  Then  the  Ladybird's  voice: 

"Very  well !  Code  a  message  to  Number  One, 
and  tell  him  Number  Seven  has  completed  his  work. 
Tell  him  again  to  take  no  chances  by  hurrying  things; 
that  he  is  to  wait  until  they  are  asleep.  And  warn 
him  again  that  under  no  circumstances  is  our  hand 
to  show  in  this  to-night." 

A  slight  confusion  followed  from  below — the  scuf- 
fling of  feet,  the  murmer  of  voices  mingling  with 


230  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

curious,  indefinable  metallic  sounds.  And  then  sud- 
denly the  Ladybird's  voice  again: 

"No — never  mind  that  message!  Damn  my 
cursed,  useless  legs !"  A  flow  of  unbridled  oaths  fol- 
lowed— the  sacrilege  the  more  horrible,  the  menace 
the  more  ghastly  for  the  languid,  conversational 
tones  in  which  the  blasphemy  rolled  so  smoothly 
from  the  man's  lips.  "I'll  trust  to  no  message  to- 
night! Curse  my  legs!  If  I  could  only  get  there 
myself !  Failure !  Failure !  Failure !  Gnats !  But 
I  will  not  have  my  plans  ruined  to-night  by  any  fool  1 
Here,  you,  Dixer!  Where's  Dixer?" 

"I'm  here,"  a  voice  answered. 

"Listen,  then!"  murmured  the  Ladybird.  "You 
haven't  got  any  more  brains  than  any  of  the  rest 
of  them,  but  you're  so  cautious  you  wouldn't  take  a 
chance  on  swapping  a  Mexican  dollar  for  a  gold 
eagle  unless  you  had  a  bottle  of  acid  in  your  pocket 
— for  fear  the  eagle  was  bad!  I  want  caution  to- 
night, and  I  want  orders  obeyed  to  the  letter,  and 
that's  all  I  want.  You  take  the  runabout  and  go 
down  there.  You've  lots  of  time.  Tell  Number 
One  you're  in  charge.  I'll  wire  him  to  that  effect. 
And  now  pay  attention  to  me  so  you  won't  have  ig- 
norance for  an  excuse !  It's  time  the  police  and  the 
rags  they  call  newspapers  around  here  had  a  little 
something  to  divert  their  attention — from  us. 
They're  getting  to  be  pests,  and  I  want  a  lull  in 
which  to  devote  a  little  more  attention  to — the  Hawk. 
It's  about  time  they  understood  we  are  modest 
enough  not  to  hog  all  the  lime-light!"  He  laughed 


THE  LADYBIRD  231 

a  little,  a  low,  modulated,  dulcet  laugh,  that  rippled 
like  a  woman's — but  in  the  ripple  there  was  some- 
thing that  was  akin  to  a  shudder.  "Twice  in  the 
last  month,  the  Traders'  National  has  made  remit- 
tances to  its  banking  correspondent  at  Elkhead  for 
the  mine  country  pay  rolls  and  on  account  of  gen- 
eral business.  They  did  it  very  neatly,  they  fooled 
us  completely — because  the  remittances  were  only 
piker  amounts,  and  because  it  was  only  a  question 
of  letting  them  get  fed  up  enough  with  their  own 
cleverness  to  pull  a  good  one !  They're  pulling  a 
good  one  to-night!"  The  Ladybird's  laugh  rippled 
out  again.  "To  outwit  us,  and  paying  us  the  com- 
pliment of  not  daring  to  trust  to  ordinary  means  of 
shipment,  they've  had  a  little  arrangement  in  force 
with  Lanson,  the  division  superintendent.  It  was 
very  simple.  Lanson,  in  his  car,  making  a  trip  over 
the^Hivision,  could  never  interest  us — certainly  not! 
Why  should  it?  Only  they  did  not  count  on  Number 
Eleven  inside  the  bank.  Very  well  I  They  wrapped 
their  banknotes  up  in  small  packages,  sealed  them 
with  the  bank's  seal,  wrapped  these  small  packages 
up  again  into  an  innocent  looking  parcel  without  a 
seal,  and  handed  it  over  to  a  trusted  young  employe 
by  the  name  of  Meridan — Paul  Meridan.  On  both 
the  former  occasions,  Meridan  left  the  bank  at  the 
usual  closing  hour,  took  the  parcel  with  him,  and 
went  home;  but,  later  on,  in  the  evening,  he  slipped 
down  to  the  railroad  yard,  boarded  Lanson's  private 
car,  locked  the  parcel  up  in  a  small  cupboard  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bookcase  with  which  the  main  com- 


THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

partment  of  the  car  is  equipped,  smoked  a  cigar  with 
Lanson,  turned  in,  the  car  was  coupled  to  the  night 
express,  and  in  the  morning  Meridan  delivered  his 
package  in  Elkhead. 

"That  was  the  way  it  was  done  before,  Dixer" — 
the  Ladybird's  voice,  if  anything,  grew  softer — "and 
that's  the  way  it  is  being  done  this  time — only  there 
are  more  little  sealed  packages  in  the  parcel  to-night. 
Aid  to-night  Meridan  will  sneak  out  of  his  home 
again,  and  go  down  to  the  private  car  with  the  money 
as  usual.  Your  way,  yours  and  the  Butcher's,  and 
that  of  the  rest  of  you,  would  be  to  lay  a  blackjack 
over  Meridan's  head  on  the  way  to  the  railroad 
yard,  and  snatch  the  parcel.  It's  not  my  way.  It's 
too  hot,  as  it  is,  around  here  now,  and  there's  got 
to  be  a  big  enough  noise  made  to  attract  attention  to 
the  other  side  of  the  fence  and  give  us  a  breathing 
spell.  Paul  Meridan  stands  for  this  to-night. 
There's  nothing  new  about  one  of  those  ubiquitous 
'trusted  employes'  going  wrong,  but  everybody 
sucks  in  their  breaths  just  the  same  every  time  it  hap- 
pens, and  the  splash  is  always  just  as  big.  Under- 
stand? Number  One  has  got  a  dummy  package 
identical  in  appearance  with  Meridan's — each  of  the 
small  packages  is  sealed  with  the  bank's  seal  in  dark- 
green  wax,  and  the  whole  is  wrapped  up  with  the 
bank's  special  wrapping  paper  and  tied  precisely  as 
is  the  one  Meridan  has  in  his  possession.  Number 
Eleven  did  his  work  well.  There  was,  of  course,  no 
opportunity  to  effect  the  exchange  in  the  bank  itself, 
and  the  dummy  parcel  had  to  be  made  up  outside, 


THE  LADYBIRD  288 

but  there  was  no  difficulty  in  carrying  away  enough 
wrapping  paper  and  wax  for  the  purpose — and,  as 
far  as  the  seal  was  concerned,  it  was  you,  Dixer,  who 
engraved  it  a  week  ago,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dixer.  "You  took  me  off  the  new 
twenty-spot  plate  for  that." 

"Exactly!"  lisped  the  Ladybird.  "Well,  though 
this  exchange  could  not  be  effected  in  the  bank,  there 
was  no  great  ingenuity  required  to  get  Meridan  to 
handle,  perhaps  only  to  lift,  say,  a  pile  of  the  bank's 
wrapping  paper  from  one  position  on  a  table  or  desk 
to  another.  If  the  under  sheet  happened  to  be  slight- 
ly smeared,  and  so  left  a  not  too  evident,  but  still 
well-defined  finger  print,  it  was,  I  am  afraid,  our 
friend  Meridan's  great  misfortune!  That  was  one 
of  the  sheets  Number  Eleven  took  away  with  him. 
Very  good!  Meridan  delivers  his  package  to  his 
bank's  correspondent  in  Elkhead  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. When  the  seals  are  broken,  the  little  packages 
are  found  to  contain — piles  of  blotting  paper,  neatly 
and  carefully  cut  to  the  size  of  banknotes !  There 
could  be  no  reason  for  suspecting  Meridan,  the 
trusted  employe — no  one  would  think  of  such  a 
thing.  He  had  simply  been  the  victim  of  a  clever 
substitution.  He  was  entirely  blameless.  Naturally! 
That  would  be  the  way  Meridan  would  reason,  and 
that  would  be  the  way  they  would  figure  he  had  rea- 
soned when  they  read  the  letter  from  'a  friend'  that 
we  are  sending  to-night,  and  which  they  will  receive 
in  the  morning.  Meridan  did  have  an  ample  op- 
portunity to  effect  the  substitution  himself.  The  let- 


234  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

ter  simply  suggests  a  close  inspection  of  the  wrap- 
pers for  finger  prints,  and  directs  attention  to  Apart- 
ment B,  on  the  ground  floor  of  The  Linden — a  rather 
fashionable  abode  for  a  young  and  newly  married 
bank  clerk — where  there  might  possibly  be  found 
certain  articles  such  as,  say,  a  counterfeit  of  the 
bank's  seal,  a  quantity  of  the  bank's  special  dark- 
green  wax,  and  some  superfluous  sheets  of  the  bank's 
particular  wrapping  paper  I" 

There  was  utter  silence  from  the  cellar  below  ^or 
an  instant,  then  there  came  a  callous  guffaw. 

"Some  plant,  all  right  I"  applauded  a  voice  hoarse- 
ly. "And  it  was  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  you 
said,  wasn't  it,  chief?" 

Again  that  rippling  laugh,  soft,  low  and  silvery. 

"Twenty-five  thousand  dollars  is  correct,"  corrob- 
orated the  Ladybird.  "And  now,  Dixer,  if  you 
fail,  you'll  talk  to  me — you've  seen  all  the  cards. 
Number  One  has  a  duplicate  key  to  the  private  car, 
and  a  duplicate  key  to  the  bookcase  cupboard.  Don't 
enter  the  car  until  you  are  sure  Meridan,  Lanson 
and  the  porter  are  asleep.  I  want  caution — and  I 
will  settle  with  the  man  until  he  will  wish  he  had 
never  been  born  who  lets  our  hand  show  in  this  to- 
night. The  car  won't  be  moved  from  the  siding 
until  the  Eastern  Express  is  made  up  at  midnight, 
but  don't  touch  the  car  while  it  is  on  the  siding  at  all 
if  it  means  taking  any  chances;  in  that  case  you  and 
Number  One  can  get  berths  in  the  Pullman,  and, 
with  the  private  car  right  behind  you,  you  can  then 
make  the  exchange  sometime  during  the  night. 


THE  LADYBIRD 

You'll  find  Number  One  and  the  rest  of  them  in  the 

-old  freight  shed  near  the  roundhouse,  and " 

The  Hawk  was  wriggling  silently  back  across  the 
floor.  There  was  no  scheme  on  foot  to-night  that 
was  aimed  at  him;  there  was,  instead,  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars — in  cash.  He  gained  the  window, 
and  swung  to  the  sill.  Footsteps,  hurried,  sounded 
from  the  direction  of  the  cellar  stairs.  The  Hawk 
dropped  to  the  ground,  stole  noiselessly  around  the 
rear  of  the  house,  and  reached  the  shelter  of  the 
grove  of  trees.  Here,  he  paused,  slipped  his  mask 
into  his  pocket,  and,  for  a  moment,  a  look  of  puz- 
zled hesitation  was  in  his  face;  then,  running  again, 
but  making  a  wide  detour  to  avoid  the  guarded  sec- 
tion of  the  track,  he  headed  for  a  point  that  would 
intercept  the  right  of  way  quite  close  to  the  Conmore 
station.  And,  as  he  ran,  he  jerked  his  watch  and 
flashlight  from  his  pockets.  It  was  a  quarter  past 
nine.  It  was  early  yet,  very  early,  and  they  certainly 
would  not  make  any  attempt  on  the  car  much  before 
midnight,  but,  for  all  that,  the  Hawk,  who  was  in- 
timately conversant  with  the  train  schedules,  shook 
his  head  impatiently,  as  he  sped  along — there  were 
twenty  miles  between  himself  and  Selkirk,  and  the 
quickest,  as  indeed  the  only  way  to  get  there,  since, 
unlike  Dixer,  he  was  not  possessed  of  a  runabout, 
was  slow  at  best.  There  were  no  westbound  pas- 
senger trains  scheduling  Conmore  for  two  hours  or 
more,  and  he  would  scarcely  have  dared  to  risk 
boarding  one  at  the  station  if  there  had  been — there 
remained,  then,  not  by  choice,  but  by  necessity,  the 


236  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

way  freight.  The  way  freight  "made"  Conmore  at 
about  ten  o'clock,  and  Selkirk  at  about  eleven-thirty. 

It  would  serve  admirably,   of  course,  if He 

shook  his  head  again,  and  then  laughed  shortly. 
There  were  no  "ifs" — he  would  be  a  passenger  on 
the  way  freight. 


—  XVI  — 

AN   EVEN   BREAK 

IT  took  the  Hawk  some  twenty-five  minutes  to 
reach  the  spot  he  had  selected  as  his  objective, 
a  spot  some  fifty  yards  east  of  the  Conmore 
siding  switch,  and  here  he  lay  down  in  the 
grass  under  the  shelter  of  the  embankment.  It  was 
very  quiet,  very  still,  very  dark;  there  was  nothing 
in  sight  save  the  winking  station  lights  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  siding  switch  light  nearer  at  hand. 

"Twenty-five  thousand  dollars!"  said  the  Hawk 
very  softly  to  himself.  He  rolled  the  words  like 
some  sweet  morsel  on  his  tongue.  "Twenty-five 
thousand  dollars — in  cash!" 

The  Hawk  spread  out  one  side  of  his  coat,  and 
under  its  protection,  in  a  diminutive  but  steady  little 
glow  of  light,  the  tiny  flashlight  played  its  ray  upon 
the  sheet  of  paper  across  which  he  had  scrawled  the 
Wire  Devils'  code  message. 

"Key  letter — x.  One-two-three — stroke  at  four," 
muttered  the  Hawk — and  in  parallel  columns  set 
down  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  one  column  trans- 
posed. 

It  took  the  Hawk  much  longer  to  decode  the  mes- 
sage than  it  had  taken  those  in  the  house  to  perform 

237 


238  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  same  task.  The  Hawk  was  working  under  dif- 
ficulties. A  stone,  none  too  flat,  served  to  rest  his 
paper  upon,  and  he  had  only  two  hands  with  which 
to  manipulate  pencil,  flashlight  and  coat.  At  the  ex- 
piration of  perhaps  half  an  hour  the  result  of  his 
work  looked  like  this: 

(plkx)  tfbm  (e)   zbyq  (et)  bqfs  (1kg)   qmbo 

seal  waxp  aper  plan 

(k)  ufec  (sr)   fijo  (jer)  embs  (t)  hfgs  (bk) 

tedb  ehin  dlar  gefr 

bnfe  (bvw)  qjdu  (u)  vsfp  (qn)  wfsn  (Ijp)  bouf 

amed  pict  ureo  verm         ante 

(1)  mnfs  (bg)  jebo  (rre)  ttju  (p)  ujoh  (11) 

Imer  idan  ssit  ting 

sppn 
room 

And  then  the  Hawk  looked  up — the  throb  and 
mutter  of  a  distant  train  was  in  the  air.  Pencil, 
paper  and  flashlight  were  restored  to  his  pockets,  and 
he  drew  further  back  from  the  right  of  way.  Far 
down  the  track  the  way  freight's  headlight  flashed 
into  view.  A  minute  passed,  another,  and  still  an- 
other. And  now,  where  the  Hawk  had  lain,  the 
ground  was  ablaze  with  light — then  black  again; 
there  was  the  roar  of  steam,  a  grind  and  clash  and 
shatter  ricochetting  down  the  string  of  cars,  the 
scream  and  shriek  of  brake-shoes,  and  then,  a  pant- 
ing thing,  as  though  the  big  mogul  were  drawing  in 
deep  breaths  after  great  exertion,  the  way  freight 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  239 

came  to  a  standstill  a  few  yards  from  the  siding 
switch. 

The  Hawk  crept  forward,  his  eyes  sweeping  down 
the  length  of  the  train  in  a  keen,  tense  gaze.  There 
was  a  flat  car — it  showed  in  a  curious  open  space,  like 
a  break  in  the  black  thread  stretched  along  the 
track — but  it  was  too  far  away,  and  too  perilously 
close  to  the  caboose.  His  eyes  travelled  back;  and, 
being  nearer  to  the  train  now  he  discerned  a  box- 
car, empty,  its  door  open,  almost  in  front  of  him. 
He  crawled  forward  until  he  was  abreast  of  it,  and 
until  he  lay  close  up  against  the  rails,  looked  cau- 
tiously up  and  down  the  length  of  the  train,  sprang 
to  his  feet,  and  in  an  instant  lay  stretched  out  far 
back  in  the  interior  ot  the  car. 

The  train  moved  forward,  stopped  again  at  the 
station,  and  again  moved  forward.  The  Hawk  re- 
verted to  his  pencil,  paper  and  flashlight.  The  code 
message  now  read: 

seal  waxp  aper  plan  tedb  ehin  dlar  gefr  amed 
pict  ureo  verm  ante  Imer  idan  ssit  ting  room 

It  was  now  simply  a  matter  of  grouping  the  let- 
ters properly,  and  the  Hawk  wrote  out  the  message 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sheet: 

Seal,  wax  (and)  paper  planted  behind  large 
framed  picture  over  mantel  Meridan(')s  sitting 
room. 

The  Hawk  stared  at  it  grimly. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hawk,  "I  guess  that's  right  1     I 


240  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

guess  the  job  is  wished  on  the  young  fellow  to  a 
finish;  he  wouldn't  have  a  hope,  and  MacVightie 
would  never  look  any  further."  The  Hawk  was 
silent  for  a  moment.  "Twenty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars— in  cash!"  murmured  the  Hawk  again. 

The  way  freight  ran  slowly,  very  slowly — and  it 
had  already  been  from  ten  to  fifteen  minutes  late  in 
reaching  Conmore.  At  the  next  station  the  train 
crew  seemed  possessed  of  a  perversity  infernal  for 
shifting,  shunting  and  lifting  cars.  The  Hawk,  fum- 
ing with  impatience,  consulted  his  watch,  as  they 
finally  pulled  out  into  the  clear  again.  It  was  twen- 
ty-five minutes  of  eleven. 

The  train  rattled,  bumped  and  jerked  its  way 
along — and  at  the  remaining  intermediate  stations 
there  was  more  delay.  And  when,  approaching 
Selkirk  at  last,  the  Hawk  consulted  his  watch  again 
as  the  train  whistled,  he  was  conscious  that  his  im- 
patience was  tempered  with  a  sort  of  sullen,  philo- 
sophical expectation  of  defeat.  His  luck  had  been 
too  abundant  during  the  early  part  of  the  evening  I 
It  was  now  ten  minutes  of  twelve.  He  leaned  out  of 
the  doorway,  peering  ahead.  They  were  just  roll- 
ing into  the  Selkirk  yard. 

The  Hawk  swung  himself  out  from  the  car,  drop- 
ped to  the  ground,  darted  quickly  to  one  side  over 
several  spur  tracks,  and  stood  still.  The  way  freight, 
like  a  snail,  dragged  past  him,  opening,  as  it  were,  a 
panorama  of  the  scene  in  the  yard:  the  low  switch 
lights,  red,  green,  purple  and  white,  like  myriad  and 
variegated  fireflies  hovering  everywhere  over  the 


AN  EVEN  BREAK 

ground ;  the  bobbing  lantern  of  a  yardman  here  and 
there;  the  dancing  gleam  of  a  headlight,  as  the  little 
yard  engine  shot  fussily  away  from  a  string  of 
lighted  coaches — the  Eastern  Express — which  it  had 
evidently  just  made  up  and  backed  down  on  the  main 
line  beside  the  station;  while  to  his  right,  up  the 
yard,  on  one  of  the  spurs,  perhaps  a  hundred  yards 
away,  its  platform  showing  in  the  glow  of  the  dome 
light,  stood  the  superintendent's  car;  and  to  his  left, 
not  quite  so  far  up  the  yard,  and  therefore  nearer  to 
him  than  the  private  car,  the  Hawk  could  make  out 
the  black,  irregular  outline  of  the  old  freight  shed. 
The  yard  engine  wheezed  its  way  importantly  up 
past  the  station,  stopped,  a  switch  light  winked, 
changed  colour,  and  the  shunter  began  to  puff  its 
way  back.  The  Hawk  shrugged  his  shoulders  re- 
signedly. The  game  was  up  and  he  was  too  late, 
unless  Dixer  had  been  forced  to  defer  his  attempt 
until  some  time  during  the  run  that  night,  which  was 
hardly  likely.  The  yard  engine  was  backing  down 
now  to  take  the  superintendent's  car  up  to  the  main 
line,  preparatory  to  running  it  back  and  coupling  it 
to  the  string  of  coaches  beside  the  station  platform. 
The  Hawk  smiled  in  the  darkness  without  mirth,  as 
he  lost  sight  of  the  little  switcher  on  the  other  side 
of  the  private  car.  Well,  at  least,  he  could  gamble 
on  the  one  chance  that  was  left !  There  was  only  one 
thing  to  do — go  over  to  the  station  and  get  a  Pull- 
man berth.  If  Dixer  and  the  Butcher — the  Butcher 
was  "Number  One" — were  on  the  Pullman,  the 
money  was  still  in  the  private  car,  and 


3842  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  Hawk's  eyes  narrowed  suddenly.  A  man 
crouched  and  running  swiftly,  circled  the  end  of  the 
private  car,  and  headed  in  the  direction  of  the  freight 
shed — and  like  a  flash  the  Hawk  whirled  and  leaped 
forward,  running  silently  toward  the  same  goal. 
The  Hawk's  brain,  stimulated,  keen,  alert,  worked 
with  lightning  speed,  and  suddenly  a  strange  low 
laugh  was  on  his  lips.  Their  courses  were  conver- 
gent, his  and  that  black  running  shape's,  and  the 
other  had  not  noticed  him,  and  there  appeared  to  be 
something,  a  package,  under  the  other's  arm.  The 
Hawk,  as  he  ran,  slipped  his  mask  over  his  face. 
Was  it  the  dummy  package — or  the  twenty-five  thou- 
sand in  cash?  Had  the  man  succeeded,  or  had  the 
yard  engine,  backing  down  to  couple  on,  disturbed 
him  in  his  attempt  just  at  the  psychological  instant? 
Again  that  strange  low  laugh,  in  a  panting  breath, 
was  on  the  Hawk's  lips.  It  die1  not  matter !  There 
was  a  way  now.  He  was  not  too  late.  If  he  got 
both  of  the  packages  he  could  not  lose — and  there 
was  a  way  to  accomplish  that,  a  wild,  dare-devil  way, 
but  a  sure  way! 

It  was  black,  pitch  black,  in  near  the  shed,  and 
the  Hawk,  with  the  shorter  distance  to  cover,  reached 
the  edge  of  the  freight  shed  platform,  and  crouched 
down  on  the  track.  Came  the  faint  crash  and  bump 
of  the  yard  engine  coupling  to  the  private  car;  then 
the  short,  quick  gasps  of  a  runner  out  of  breath,  and 
a  flying  form  bounded  across  the  tracks,  sprang  to 
the  platform,  and  dashed  for  the  freight  shed  door — 
and  the  Hawk,  his  muscles,  rigid,  taut  as  steel,  re- 


AN  EVEN  BREAK 

leased  suddenly,  as  a  coiled  spring  is  released,  leaped 
and  hurled  himself  upon  the  other. 

There  was  a  yell  of  dismay,  of  surprise  and  fury, 
that  seemed  to  echo  from  one  end  of  the  yard  to 
the  other.  The  man  went  down  in  a  heap  from  the 
impact.  The  package,  from  under  his  arm,  rolled 
off  along  the  platform — and  the  Hawk  in  a  swoop 
was  upon  it.  He  snatched  it  up,  and  running  like 
a  deer  now,  headed  for  the  yard  engine  and  the 
private  car. 

Came  another  yell  from  behind  him.  He  heard 
the  freight  shed  door  flung  violently  open ;  and  then, 
in  grim  emphasis  of  a  sudden  chorus  of  wild,  in- 
furiated shouts  from  Dixer's  waiting  companions, 
the  vicious  tongue  flame  of  a  revolver  split  the 
black,  and  the  roar  of  the  report  reverberated 
through  the  yard  like  a  cannon  shot. 

And  now  from  the  yard  itself,  the  roundhouse  and 
the  station  came  answering  shouts.  On  the  Hawk 
ran — he  was  alongside  the  private  car  now,  which 
was  already  in  motion — and  now  he  was  opposite 
the  cab  of  the  yard  engine.  The  fireman,  at  the  sud- 
den pandemonium,  head  thrust  out,  was  hanging  in 
the  gangway.  The  Hawk's  automatic  swung  to  a 
line  with  the  other's  head. 

"Get  out!"  gritted  the  Hawk  coldly.  ''Both  of 
you — you  and  your  mate!  Get  out — on  the  other 
side!" 

The  man,  with  a  dazed  oath,  retreated,  and  the 
Hawk  sprang  through  the  gangway.  The  engineer, 
jumping  from  his  seat,  hesitated,  and  in  the  yellow 


244  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

light  of  the  cab  lamp  looked  for  the  fraction  of  a 
second  into  the  muzzle  of  the  Hawk's  automatic,  and 
into  the  hard,  uncompromising  black  eyes  behind  the 
mask — and  followed  the  fireman  in  a  hasty  exit 
through  the  opposite  gangway. 

The  Hawk  snatched  at  the  throttle,  pulled  it 
wider — and,  like  a  beast  stung  to  sudden  madness 
under  the  spur,  the  yard  engine  quivered,  and  in  a 
storm  of  exhausts,  coughing  the  red  sparks  skyward 
from  the  stack,  the  drivers  racing,  spitting  fire  as 
they  sought  to  bite  and  hold  the  steel,  plunged  for- 
ward. Ahead  the  way  was  clear  to  the  main  line, 

but  behind The  Hawk  dropped  his  package  on 

the  floor  of  the  cab,  leaned  suddenly  far  out  through 
the  gangway,  and  as  suddenly  fired,  his  automatic 
cutting  a  lane  of  flame  through  the  darkness.  He 
had  fired  at  the  ground,  but  his  shot  had  been  ef- 
fective. The  engineer  or  the  fireman,  he  could  not 
distinguish  which,  leaping  to  board  the  private  car 
by  the  rear  platform,  leaped  back  instead,  and  with 
a  series  of  wild  gesticulations,  in  which  arms  and 
fists  waved  furiously,  vanished  in  the  darkness. 

The  yard  engine,  as  though  playing  snap-the-whip 
with  the  private  car  behind  it,  took  the  main  line 
switch  with  a  stagger  and  a  lurch,  and  straightened 
away  into  the  clear.  There  was  speed  now,  and  the 
speed  was  increasing  with  every  second.  The 
shouts,  the  yells,  the  cries,  the  pandemonium  from 
the  yard  was  blotted  out  in  the  pound  of  the  drivers 
and  the  belch  of  the  exhaust;  and  the  station  and 
switch  lights  were  lost  to  sight  as  engine  and  car 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  245 

flew  on,  heading  west  into  the  foothills.  The  Hawk 
chuckled  to  himself.  There  would  be  wild  confu- 
sion in  the  dispatcher's  office,  and  wild  confusion  all 
along  the  line  west  of  Selkirk,  as  regulars,  extras 
and  traffic  of  all  sorts  scurried  for  safety  to  the  sid- 
ings— but  there  would  be  no  interference  with  him! 
Where  they  would  otherwise  have  ditched  him,  given 
him  an  open  switch  at  the  first  station  and  sent  him 
to  destruction  without  compunction,  he  possessed,  as 
it  was,  a  most  satisfactory  hostage  in  the  person  of 
the  division  superintendent,  whom  they  would  hesi- 
tate about  sending  to  eternity  at  the  same  time ! 

Possibly  a  minute  and  a  half,  two  at  the  outside, 
had  passed  since  he  had  jumped  through  the  gang- 
way. He  eased  the  throttle  a  little  now,  reducing 
the  speed  to  a  rate  more  nearly  commensurate  with 
safety;  and,  placing  the  package  on  the  driver's  seat, 
ripped  off  the  outside  wrapper.  There  was  a  queer, 
hard  smile  on  the  Hawk's  lips,  as  his  fingers  tore  at 
the  covering  of  one  of  the  small  sealed  packets  with- 
in. Was  it  the  dummy  parcel — or  the  twenty-five 
thousand  in  cash?  Had  Dixer  succeeded — or  was 
the  money  still  behind  him  there  in  the  private  car? 

The  cab  lamp  above  the  dancing  gauge  needles 
seemed  to  throw  its  meagre  yellow  glow  with 
strained  inquisitiveness  over  the  Hawk's  shoulder — 
and  then  the  Hawk  laughed  softly,  and  laughed 
again.  In  his  hands  were  banknotes.  He  riffled  the 
stack  through  his  fingers.  It  was  here,  in  his  pos- 
session— twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  cash! 

And  he  laughed  again,  and  glanced  around  him — 


246  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

through  the  cab  glass  at  the  white  ribbons  of  steel 
glistening  under  the  headlight's  glare,  around  the 
murky  cab  that  in  its  sway  and  jolt  seemed  to  en- 
dow a  legion  of  shadowy  with  movement,  vitality 
and  life,  at  the  platform  of  the  private  car,  which 
he  could  see  by  looking  along  the  edge  of  the  tender, 
and  which,  like  its  fellow  at  the  rear,  was  bathed  in 
the  soft  radiance  of  a  dome  light.  Well,  he  might 
have  known  from  the  fact  that  the  occupants  of  the 
car  had  not  made  any  move  as  yet,  at  least  from  the 
forward  end,  that  they  had  been  in  bed  and  asleep 
when  the  disturbance  began;  and  he  might,  on  that 
count,  if  he  had  stopped  to  think,  have  known  that 
Dixer  had  succeeded  even  before  he,  the  Hawk,  had 
put  it  to  the  proof  by  opening  the  parcel. 

A  lurch  of  the  cab  sent  him  against  the  seat,  and 
scattered  the  sealed  packages.  He  gathered  them 
together  again  hurriedly.  He  had  only  to  slow 
down  the  engine  a  little  more,  jump  to  the  ground, 
let  the  engine  and  car  go  on,  make  his  own  way 
back  through  the  fields,  and  he  would  be  safe  unless 
— that  strange,  queer  smile,  half  grim,  half  whimsi- 
cal, was  flickering  across  his  lips — unless  he  cared 
to  risk  his  life  for  that  dummy  package  back  there 
in  the  car  behind,  that  contained  nothing  more  valu- 
able than  neatly  trimmed  pieces  of  blotting  paper! 

The  smile  lost  its  whimsicality,  and  the  grimness 
gathered  until  his  lips  drooped  in  sharp,  hard  lines 
at  the  corners  of  his  mouth — and,  abruptly,  lifting 
op  the  seat,  he  swept  the  packages  of  banknotes  into 
die  engineer's  box,  leaped  across  the  cab,  and  began 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  247 

to  claw  his  way  up  over  the  coal,  making  for  the 
back  of  the  tender. 

"Twenty-five  thousand  in  cash  for  me,  and  twenty 
years  in  the  'pen'  for  the  kid,  doesn't  look  like  an 
even  break,"  muttered  the  Hawk,  as  he  clawed  his 
way  up.  "Maybe  I'm  a  fool — I  guess  maybe  I  am — 
but  it  doesn't  look  like  an  even  break.  You  see," 
said  the  Hawk,  continuing  to  commune  with  him- 
self, "they'll  know,  of  course,  that  some  one  who 
wasn't  Meridan  tried  to  get  the  package,  but  with 
the  package  still  there  they'll  think  that  the  'some 
one'  made  a  bull  of  it,  and  to-morrow  morning  when 
they  open  the  package  and  spot  the  finger  prints,  and 
get  that  bank  seal  in  Meridan's  home,  they'll  hold 
him  for  it  cold,  because  what's  happened  around 
here  to-night'll  only  look  like  somebody  making  a 
try  for  the  goods  without  knowing  they  were  al- 
ready gone.  The  kid  wouldn't  have  a  hope — the 
Ladybird  wasn't  dealing  any  aces  except  to  himself — 
the  kid  would  go  up  for  having  previously  stolen  the 
goods  on  his  own  account.  Yes,  I  guess  he  would — • 
wax,  seal  and  paper  in  his  house  to  make  dummy 
packages  with — yes,  I  guess  the  kid  would  stand  a 
hot  chance  1" 

The  Hawk  rose  to  his  feet  at  the  rear  of  the 
tender,  preparing  to  negotiate  a  leap  down  over  the 
ornamental  brass  platform  railing  of  the  private 
car — and  instantly  flung  himself  back  flat  on  his  face 
on  the  coal.  The  car  door  was  flung  open,  and 
Lanson,  the  superintendent,  in  pajamas,  a  revolver 
in  his  hand,  stepped  out  on  the  platform.  He  was 


248  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

closely  followed  by  a  young  man — Meridan,  the 
bank  clerk,  obviously — also  in  pajamas,  but  appar- 
ently unarmed;  and,  behind  Meridan  again,  came 
the  negro  porter. 

Lanson's  voice,  raised  excitedly,  carried  to  the 
Hawk: 

"Damn  it,  there's  no  one  in  the  cab!  What  the 
devil  sort  of  a  game  is  this !" 

The  Hawk  edged  up  to  the  top  of  the  coal  again 
— and  the  next  instant,  with  catlike  agility*  he 
launched  himself  forward.  Lanson,  clambering  over 
the  platform  railing,  with  the  very  evident  intention 
of  making  his  way  via  the  tender  to  the  throttle^ 
gasped  audibly  over  the  racket  of  the  beating  trucks, 
and  in  a  sort  of  stunned  surprise  and  irresolution 
remained  poised  inertly  on  the  railing,  as  the  Hawk, 
clinging  now  with  one  hand  to  the  rear  handrail  of 
the  switcher,  his  feet  planted  on  the  buffer  beam, 
thrust  the  muzzle  of  his  automatic  into  Lanson's 
face. 

"Drop  that  gun!"  invited  the  Hawk  in  a  mono- 
tone. 

The  weapon,  from  Lanson's  hand,  clattered 
down,  struck  the  coupling,  and  dropped  to  the  track. 

The  Hawk  spoke  again — with  unpleasant  curt- 
ness  : 

"You — Sambo!  Move  back,  and  stand  in  the 
doorway !  Yes — there  !  Now,  you,  young  man,  you 
stand  in  front  of  Sambo — your  back  to  him!"  And 
then,  as  Meridan  too  obeyed,  though  more  slowly 
than  the  porter  and  with  a  sort  of  defiant  reluctance, 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  249 

the  Hawk  addressed  the  superintendent:  "Now, 
you — your  name's  Lanson,  isn't  it?"  he  snapped. 
"You,  Lanson,  back  up  against  the  young  fellow. 
Yes — that's  it !  Sambo,  put  your  hands  on  the  young 
fellow's  shoulders — and  you,  young  fellow,  do  the 
same  on  Lanson's !"  The  Hawk  swung  over  to  the 
car  platform — and  then  the  Hawk  smiled  uninvit- 
ingly.  "It's  the  lock-step  backwards,"  he  explained 
insolently.  "You  get  the  idea,  don't  you?  If  either 
of  you  two  behind  lift  your  hands,  Lanson  in  front 
here  pays  for  it.  Now — back  with  you !" 

They  shuffled  backward  into  the  observation  com- 
partment of  the  car,  through  this,  and  through  a 
narrow  side  corridor,  and  emerged  into  the  main 
compartment  of  the  car.  The  Hawk,  guiding  their 
movements  by  the  simple  expedient  of  prodding  the 
muzzle  of  his  automatic  none  too  gently  into  Lan- 
son's body,  here  ranged  the  three  along  the  side  of 
the  car;  and,  backing  over  to  the  opposite  side  him- 
self, halted  in  front  of  the  bookcase,  and  stood  sur- 
veying his  captives  with  his  former  insolent  stare. 
The  porter  was  patently  reduced  to  a  state  of  ner- 
vous terror;  Meridan,  young,  clean-cut,  was  white 
to  the  lips,  and  his  lips  quivered,  but  his  eyes,  a  hard, 
bitter  light  in  them,  never  left  the  Hawk's  face; 
Lanson,  too,  was  white,  but  there  was  a  stern  com- 
posure in  his  face  that  was  absent  from  the  younger 
man's. 

It  was  Lanson  who  spoke. 

"I  presume,"  he  said  evenly,  "that  you  are  the 


250  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

abandoned  scoundrel,  known  as  the  Hawk,  whom 
one  of  these  days  we  are  going — to  hang" 

The  Hawk  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  haven't  a  calling  card  with  me,  but  we'll  let  it 
go  at  that,"  he  answered  flippantly. 

The  car  swayed  and  lurched  suddenly;  the  trucks 
beat  a  louder  tattoo  as  they  clattered  over  a  switch; 
lights,  a  row  of  them  from  without,  scintillated 
through  the  car  windows — and  were  gone.  They 
were  not  running  perilously  fast,  but  fast  enough 
to  prohibit  the  possibility  of  any  one,  even  an  acro- 
batic brakeman  from  a  stalled  train,  swinging 
aboard.  The  Hawk  laughed  low.  Also,  he  had 
been  quite  right — they  had  just  passed  a  station,  and, 
thanks  to  the  superintendent's  presence,  no  attempt 
had  been  made  to  interfere  with  the  train. 

From  one  of  the  Hawk's  pockets — with  his  left 
hand — the  Hawk  produced  a  small  steel  jimmy.  He 
knelt  down,  and,  still  covering  the  three  men,  in- 
serted the  jimmy  in  between  the  cupboard  doors. 
There  was  a  creak,  the  rip  and  split  and  tear  of 
rending  wood  and  lock,  and  the  doors  flew  apart. 
The  Hawk  reached  in,  laughed  again,  as,  with  the 
dummy  package  under  his  arm,  he  stood  up  and  be- 
gan to  back  away  toward  the  corridor  leading  to  the 
forward  end  of  the  car — and  the  laugh  died  on  his 
lips.  In  the  winking  of  an  eye  Meridan  had  swung 
his  hands  from  Lanson's  shoulders,  and  was  spring- 
ing forward. 

"You'll  never  get  it!"  The  boy's  voice  was  a 
hoarse  whisper.  "Not  while  I " 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  251 

"Keep  away,  you  fool!"  snarled  the  Hawk,  and 
fired — at  the  floor.  His  brain  seemed  instantly  in 
a  riot  of  ironical  mockery.  He  could  not  fire  at 
the  boy — it  was  the  boy  who  had  brought  him  here — 
and  now  the  other  was  upon  him — like  a  wild  cat — 
snatching  at  the  automatic. 

It  was  only  another  step  backward  to  the  opening 
of  the  corridor,  and  the  Hawk  gained  it;  but  still 
the  boy  clung  on,  fighting  furiously.  He  saw  Lanson 
and  the  porter  leap  forward,  but  for  the  moment 
that  mattered  little — no  more  than  one  at  a  time 
could  get  at  him  in  the  confined  and  nrrrow  space 
here.  To  hold  the  package  rendered  his  left  arm 
useless.  He  dropped  the  package  to  the  floor,  and 
kicked  it  deftly  back  behind  him,  as  the  boy,  with 
both  hands,  wrenched  and  battled  madly  for  posses- 
sion of  the  automatic. 

They  were  swaying  now,  the  two  of  them,  bump- 
ing their  shoulders  and  their  arms  and  elbows  against 
first  one  side  of  the  corridor  and  then  the  other. 
There  was  the  crash  of  splintering  glass  as  they 
lunged  into  a  window — another  crash,  louder,  more 
ominous,  and  with  it  a  tongue  of  flame,  as  the  auto- 
matic went  off  in  their  hands — and  something  like 
a  red-hot  iron  seared  the  Hawk's  side,  and  a  blur 
came  before  his  eyes. 

He  reeled,  recovered  himself,  and,  massing  all 
his  strength  for  the  effort,  as,  with  a  cry  of  triumph, 
Meridan  closed  again,  he  tore  himself  free  from  the 
other's  grasp.  There  was  one  way — he  was  still  in 
possession  of  the  automatic — only  one  way  now. 


252  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

With  a  lightning  swing  he  whipped  the  hutt  of  the 
weapon  to  the  other's  head,  backed  rapidly  away  as 
the  boy  slid  a  limp  thing  to  the  floor,  and,  picking  up 
the  package  as  he  moved  backward,  holding  the  nar- 
row corridor  with  his  automatic,  though  Lanson  was 
kneeling  now  at  Meridan's  side,  he  reached  the  ob- 
servation compartment,  whirled,  ran  for  the  door, 
opened  it,  and  stepped  out  on  the  platform. 

He  stood  panting  here,  a  little  dizzy,  a  sort  of 
nauseating  weakness  upon  him,  as  he  fumbled  in 
his  pocket.  He  was  not  as  quick  as  usual  in  his 
work,  not  as  expert  now  in  the  use  of  his  skeleton 
keys,  but,  swiftly  for  all  that,  he  locked  the  car 
door. 

The  car  and  the  engine  seemed  to  sway  and  lurch 
and  pitch  and  toss  as  they  had  never  done  before. 
Was  the  speed  greater?  What  was  it?  He  stum- 
bled and  nearly  fell  as  he  climbed  to  the  tender.  He 
fell,  unable  to  maintain  his  footing  in  the  shifting 
coal,  as  he  reached  the  cab.  There  was  something 
hot  and  wet  that  seemed  to  be  working  its  way  down 
his  leg;  his  side  was  giving  him  intolerable  pain. 

He  looked  at  the  package  in  his  hands,  looked  at 
it  queerly  for  a  moment,  and  then  his  drawn  lips 
parted  in  the  old  whimsical  smile,  as  he  lurched  for- 
ward and  opened  the  fire-box  door.  The  red  glow 
filled  the  cab  and  spread  upward,  tinging  the  sky 
with  a  rosy  light — and  the  Hawk  thrust  the  package 
into  the  fire,  and,  swaying  unsteadily,  watched  it 
burst  into  flame. 

He  glanced  at  the  gauge  now.     The  steam  was 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  253 

dropping  rapidly.  He  swept  his  hand  across  his 
eyes.  He  had  two  things  to  do,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  his  brain  clogged  in  its  decision  as  to  which 
he  should  do  first — he  had  to  get  more  coal  on  the 
fire,  or  else  the  engine  would  run  down,  and  he  did 
not  want  it  to  run  down,  for  it  must  keep  on  going 
a  long  way,  a  very  long  way  if  possible,  after  he 
left  it;  and  he  must  stop  the  flow  of  blood  from  his 
wound  somehow,  or  else 

He  put  coal  into  the  fire-box.  It  was  painful, 
dizzy  work,  and  he  spilled  a  great  deal  of  it,  and 
the  lumps  rolled  over  the  floor  of  the  cab,  and  he 
stumbled  over  the  lumps. 

The  Hawk's  teeth  were  biting  into  his  bloodless 
lips,  as  he  finally  shut  the  fire-box  door,  and,  stag- 
gering to  the  side  of  the  cab,  lifted  up  the  engineer's 
seat  again.  Here,  under  the  packages  of  banknotes, 
he  found  a  bunch  of  waste  and  some  cord;  and  then, 
reeling  with  the  lurch  of  the  cab,  reeling  with  his 
own  weakness  that  only  an  iron  nerve  held  back  from 
mastering  him,  he  examined  his  wound,  found  it, 
though  painful  and  bleeding  profusely,  to  be  only  a 
bad  flesh  wound,  and,  making  a  thick  pad  of  the 
waste,  he  laid  it  against  his  side,  and  bound  it  there 
by  passing  the  cord  tightly  several  times  around  his 
body.  It  was  a  crude  bandage,  but  it  should,  at 
least,  check  the  flow  of  blood — afterwards,  if  he 
had  luck,  there  would  be  opportunity  for  a  better 
one ! 

His  mind  reverted,  seemingly  without  volition 
of  his,  to  the  fight  in  the  car,  and  he  spoke  aloud. 


254  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"I  guess,"  said  the  Hawk,  "I  didn't  hit  him  as 
hard  as  twenty  years  in  the  'pen'  would  have  hit 
him — I  guess  I  didn't  hit  him  that  hard." 

He  rested  for  a  moment,  sitting  on  the  floor  of 
the  cab;  then  from  the  engineer's  box  he  removed 
the  sealed  packages,  the  torn  outside  wrapper,  and 
likewise  an  evening  newspaper  which  he  found  there. 
He  wrapped  up  the  banknotes  in  the  newspaper,  tied 
the  bundle  securely  with  the  remainder  of  his  cord, 
replaced  the  seat,  and,  crouched  low  enough  on 
the  floor  to  be  protected  by  the  tender  from,  say,  a 
shot  fired  through  the  observation  window  of  the 
private  car,  kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  right  of 
way  ahead. 

The  next  station  must  be  close  at  hand,  and  there 
was  but  one  way  in  which  he  could  get  back  to  Sel- 
kirk— and  he  must  get  back.  There  was  that  letter 
— the  Ladybird's  letter — that  would  be  received  in 
Elkhead  in  the  morning !  His  brain  was  clearer  now. 
He  must  be  on  Extra  No.  92,  the  eastbound  fast 
freight's,  running  time,  and  she  must  be  somewhere 
very  near  here,  must  have  taken  to  the  siding  at  the 
next  station  probably  to  avoid  him,  and  to  give  clear- 
ance to  what  was,  undoubtedly  now,  coming  behind 
him — a  detective's  special,  with  MacVightie,  natu- 
rally, in  command. 

He  straightened  up  painfully.  Ahead,  he  had 
caught  the  glint  of  switch  and  station  lights.  The 
siding  was  on  the  left-hand  side.  He  moved  to  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  cab,  and  lay  on  the  cab  floor 
by  the  gangway.  That  letter !  It  seemed  to  obsess 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  255 

him  now.  If,  when  the  letter  was  read,  the  bank 
seal,  the  wax,  and  the  wrapping  paper  were  found 
hidden  in  the  boy's  home,  the  fact  that  some  one — 
he,  the  Hawk — had  stolen  the  package  from  the  car 
in  no  way  changed  anything.  The  boy's  apparent 
prior  guilt  was  as  glaring  as  ever.  On  the  other 
hand,  with  the  package  gone,  and  if  the  seal  and 
those  other  things  were  not  found,  the  letter  became 
simply  the  expression  of  some  practical  joker's  per- 
verted sense  of  humour,  or  the  irresponsible  work 
of  some  fool  or  crank.  He  frowned  in  a  sort  of 
dazed  irritation.  He  had  known  that  all  along, 
hadn't  he?  He  had  known  when  he  started  after 
that  dummy  package  in  the  first  place  that  he  would 
have  to  go  all  the  way — so  why  was  his  mind  dwell- 
ing now  on  useless  repetitions ! 

Tiie  Hawk  raised  his  head  slightly — a  deafening 
racket  was  in  his  ears.  The  freight  was  here — on 
the  siding.  He  was  roaring  past  it  now.  He  could 
not  hope  for  an  open  boxcar  on  the  fast  freight. 
His  eyes  were  searching  eagerly  for  a  flat  car — a  flat 
car  loaded  with  anything  that  would  afford  him 
shelter.  Yes — there  was  one — two  of  them — loaded 
with  steel  girders. 

The  roar  subsided;  he  was  past  the  station  and 
into  the  clear  again — and  now  the  Hawk  was  at  the 
throttle,  easing  the  speed  craftily.  He  did  not  dare 
to  "shut  off"  entirely,  for,  behind  there  at  the  sta- 
tion, they  would  know,  if  the  sound  of  the  exhaust 
ceased,  that  he  had  stopped.  He  checked  a  little 
with  the  "air"  now.  And  now,  calculating  the  speed 


256  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

reduced  enough  to  risk  a  jump,  he  opened  the  throt- 
tle to  its  former  notch,  took  up  his  newspaper  pack- 
age, lowered  himself  to  the  bottom  gangway  step, 
and  swung  off. 

He  rolled  down  the  embankment.  The  switcher 
and  private  car  went  by,  and,  gradually  gaining 
speed  again,  racketed  on  up  the  right  of  way.  With 
a  groan,  the  Hawk  readjusted  his  displaced  and 
makeshift  bandage,  and  began  to  make  his  way  back 
toward  the  station.  If  he  had  slowed  enough  to  al- 
low of  a  safe  landing  for  himself,  he  had,  of  course, 
given  Lanson  the  same  opportunity — but  he  had  no 
fear  of  that.  Lanson  might  have  jumped,  but  Meri- 
dan,  whom  he  had  left  unconscious,  couldn't,  and 
Lanson  would  stick  to  Meridan.  As  for  the  porter 
— the  Hawk  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  he  looked 
about  him — the  porter  had  not  jumped. 

He  stumbled  on.  If  he  were  right,  if  they  had 
started  a  posse  on  a  special  in  pursuit,  he  had  plenty 
of  time.  The  fast  freight  could  not  pull  out  until 
the  special  had  gone  by.  It  seemed  a  long  way,  an 
interminable  way,  an  immeasurably  greater  distance 
than  he  had  covered  coming  up  on  the  switcher. 
And  then,  at  last,  the  tail-lights  of  the  stalled  freight 
came  into  sight  around  a  bend,  and  grew  brighter. 
And  then,  too,  there  came  from  the  eastward  the 
rumble  of  an  approaching  train.  He  grew  cautious 
now,  and,  creeping  far  out  from  the  side  of  the  track, 
passed  the  caboose,  crept  in  again  toward  the  line 
of  cars,  located  the  position  of  the  flat  cars,  climbed 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  257 

aboard  one  of  them,  and  crawled  in  under  the  shored- 
up  girders. 

The  Hawk  lay  very  quiet.  He  was  weak  again, 
and  his  head  swam,  and  he  was  dizzy.  An  engine 
and  car — MacVightie  and  his  posse  presumably — 
passed  by  on  the  main  line;  and  then,  presently,  the 
freight,  with  a  clatter  and  bang  echoing  from  one 
to  another  down  the  length  of  cars,  drew  out  of  the 
station. 

When  the  Hawk  moved  again,  it  was  as  the  train 
whistled  and  slowed  for  the  Selkirk  yard.  Perhaps 
twenty  minutes  had  passed — the  fast  freight,  with 
no  stops  and  already  late,  had  made  time.  He  put 
his  mask  in  his  pocket,  wormed  his  way  out  from 
under  the  girders,  and  peered  ahead  and  behind. 
They  were  just  crawling  into  the  upper  end  of  the 
yard.  He  slid  to  the  ground,  found  himself  a  little 
more  steady  on  his  feet,  slipped  across  the  spur 
tracks,  dodged  in  between  two  buildings  that  flanked 
the  side  of  the  yard,  and  came  out  on  the  street. 

Under  a  street  lamp  the  Hawk  looked  at  his 
watch.  It  was  one  o'clock.  He  swayed  a  little  again, 
but  his  lips  set  hard.  There  was  not  very  much 
time.  Somewhere  up  the  line  the  switcher  and  the 
private  car  would  come  to  a  stop,  and  they  would 
bring  Meridan  home — and  once  that  happened,  with 
its  consequent  stir  in  Meridan's  apartment,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  get  in  there,  and  the  game,  as  far 
as  the  boy  was  concerned,  would  be  up. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hawk,  as  he  forced  himself  along 


258  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  street,  "I  guess  maybe  that's  right — I  guess  may- 
be I'm  a  fool — but  it  wasn't  an  even  break." 

A  street  car  at  the  next  corner  took  him  across 
town;  and  fifteen  minutes  more  found  him  standing 
in  the  unlighted  vestibule  of  the  Linden  Apart- 
ments. The  tiny  flashlight  swept  the  ground  floor 
apartment  doors — and  an  instant  later  the  door  of 
Apartment  B  yielded  noiselessly  to  the  deft  manipu- 
lation  of  a  skeleton  key. 

The  Hawk  closed  the  door,  and  stole  forward. 
It  was  a  rather  fashionable  apartment,  as  the  Lady- 
bird had  said,  but  it  was  also  a  very  small  one,  small 
enough  to  warrant  the  presumption1  that  the  young 
couple  did  not  keep  a  servant,  and  that  there  would 
probably  be  no  one  there  except  Meridan's  wife. 
A  door  at  his  right,  as  he  felt  out  in  the  darkness, 
he  found  to  be  open.  He  listened — for  the  sound 
of  breathing.  There  was  nothing.  The  flashlight 
winked — and  the  Hawk  stepped  forward  into  the 
room.  It  was  the  sitting  room.  The  flashlight  was 
sweeping  about  now  in  an  inquisitive  little  ray.  A 
door,  closed,  leading  to  an  inner  room,  was  on  his 
right;  facing  him  was  a  heavily  portiered  window, 
the  portieres  drawn;  and  a  little  to  the  left  of  the 
window  was  the  mantel. 

The  flashlight's  ray  wavered  suddenly,  unsteadily 
— and  the  Hawk  caught  at  the  nearest  thing  to  him, 
the  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  for  support,  a 
sense  of  disaster  upon  him,  a  realisation  that,  lashed 
on  as  it  might  be  by  force  of  will,  there  was  a  limit 
to  physical  endurance,  and  that  the  limit  had  well- 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  259 

nigh  been  reached.  His  hand  brushed  across  his 
eyes,  and  brushed  across  them  again  to  clear  his 
sight,  as  he  tried  to  follow  the  flashlight's  ray  to 
where  it  played  jerkily  on  a  massively  framed  pic- 
ture over  the  mantel.  He  bit  his  lips  now,  bit  them 
until  they  bled — and  moved  forward — and  laid  his 
parcel  of  banknotes  on  the  floor  that  he  might  have 
the  use  of  both  hands — and  climbed  upon  a  chair, 
and  felt  in  behind  the  picture.  Yes — it  was  there ! 
His  fingers  closed  on  a  roll  of  paper,  twitched  and 
shook  a  little  as  they  pulled  it  out — and  a  small  pack- 
age from  inside  the  roll  fell  with  a  slight  thud  to 
the  mantel,  and  from  the  mantel  bounded  off  to  the 
floor. 

The  Hawk  caught  his  breath,  as  he  listened,  and 
descended  from  the  chair. 

"Clumsy  fool!"  he  gritted  fiercely,  as  he  knelt 
on  the  floor.  "I — I  guess  I'm  pretty  near  the  count 
to  do  a  thing  like  that." 

The  flashlight  came  into  play  again,  and  disclosed 
a  metal  seal  and  several  pieces  of  dark-green  wax 
peeping  through  the  paper  wrapper  that  had  been 
split  apart  in  the  fall.  He  picked  them  up,  and  put 
them  in  his  pocket;  then,  loosening  his  vest,  he 
tucked  the  roll  of  wrapping  paper  inside  his  shirt. 
Well,  it  was  done  now;  he  had  only  to  get  back  to 
his  room,  and  there  was  surely  strength  enough  left 
for  that.  Again  his  hand  swept  across  his  eyes,  and 
pressed  hard  against  his  temples — and  then,  stooping 
swiftly,  he  clutched  at  his  package  of  banknotes  on 
the  floor  beside  him,  and  stood  up,  rigid  and  tense. 


260  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Out  of  the  darkness,  almost  at  his  elbow,  with  a 
startling  clamour  that  clashed  and  shattered  through 
the  silence,  and  seemed  to  set  a  thousand  echoes  re- 
verberating through  the  room,  came  the  ringing  of 
the  telephone. 

Some  one  in  the  inner  room  stirred.  The  Hawk 
drew  back  hurriedly  into  the  window  recess  behind 
the  portieres.  The  telephone  rang  again.  There 
came  a  step  now,  and  now  the  room  was  flooded  with 
light,  and  a  woman,  a  dressing  gown  flung  hastily 
over  her  shoulders,  crossed  from  the  inner  doorway 
to  the  table,  and  picked  up  the  instrument. 

"Yes?  .  .  .  Hello!  .  .  .  What  is  it?"  she  asked, 
a  little  sleepily.  "Yes,  this  is  Mrs.  Meridan  .  .  . 
What!  .  .  .  My  husband!"  Her  voice  rang  out 
in  sudden  terror.  "What  did  you  say?"  she  cried 
frantically.  "Yes,  yes — the  Hawk — my  husband — 
unconscious  .  .  .  You  are  not  telling  me  all  the 
truth — you  are  trying  to  keep  the  worst  from  me — 
for  God's  sake  tell  me  the  truth !  .  .  .  Not  danger- 
ous? .  .  .  You  are  sure — you  are  sure?  .  .  .  Yes, 
yes,  I  understand!  ...  At  the  station  in  half  an 
hour  ...  I  will  be  there." 

Mechanically  she  hung  the  receiver  on  the  hook, 
and  clung  for  a  moment  to  the  table's  edge,  her  face 
grey  and  bloodless;  and  then  her  lips  moved,  and 
one  hand  clenched  until  the  tight-drawn  skin  across 
the  knuckles  was  an  ivory  white. 

"I  pray  God  they  get  this  Hawk!"  she  whispered. 
"I  pray  God  they  do!  And  I  pray  God  they  kill 
him  I  The  coward !  The  miserable,  pitiful  coward  I" 


AN  EVEN  BREAK  261 

The  Hawk's  fingers  were  digging  at  the  window 
sill,  because  somehow  his  knees  were  refusing  to 
support  his  weight.  What  was  she  saying?  He  did 
not  quite  understand.  Well,  it  did  not  matter,  she 
was  gone  now  into  that  other  room — only  she  had 
left  the  light  on.  It  was  very  strange  the  way  his 
hand  on  the  window  sill  seemed  to  keep  pulling  his 
body  around  in  circles! 

Time  had  lost  concrete  significance  to  the  Hawk. 
She  appeared  again,  fully  dressed  now,  and,  switch- 
ing off  the  light,  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  the 
front  door  closed  behind  her. 

The  Hawk  parted  the  portieres,  and  staggered 
across  the  room — and,  a  moment  later,  a  dark  form, 
a  newspaper  parcel  clutched  under  its  arm,  emerged 
stealthily  from  the  vestibule,  and,  reeling  like  a 
drunken  man,  disappeared  in  the  darkness  down  the 
street. 


I 


—  XVII  — 

A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 

HE  wound  was  healed — partially,  at 
least.  If  the  Hawk  had  unduly  short- 
ened his  period  of  convalescence,  he  was 
perhaps  justified,  and  not  wholly  without 
excuse !  He  stood  now  in  the  black  shadows,  hugged 
close  to  the  wall  of  the  roundhouse.  And  now  he 
moved  stealthily  forward,  until,  from  a  crouched 
position,  he  straightened  up  against  the  wall  at  the 
side  of  one  of  the  few  windows  which  were  lighted. 
Lanson  had  strolled  aimlessly  across  the  tracks  from 
the  station  some  ten  minutes  before,  and,  five  min- 
utes later,  MacVightie  had  followed  Lanson — to 
their  chosen  spot  for  secret  conferences,  this  little 
"cubbyhole"  of  a  turner's  office  in  the  roundhouse, 
as  the  Hawk,  from  more  than  one  experience  in  the 
past,  had  very  good  reason  to  know.  They  were  in 
there  now,  and,  as  the  Hawk  was  likewise  exceed- 
ingly well  aware,  the  events  of  the  next  few  hours, 
and  incidentally  his  own  particular  movements,  de- 
pended very  pertinently  upon  the  movements  of 
MacVightie  and  Lanson. 

Lanson's  voice  in  quietly  modulated  tones  reached 
the  Hawk: 

262 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL  263 

"Yes,  both  trains  are  on  time  to  the  minute;  I've 
taken  care  of  that.  And  so  far  there  doesn't  seem 
to  be  a  hitch  anywhere,  and  with  your  men  boarding 
the  trains  west  of  here  at  different  stations  along  the 
line,  and  mixing  quietly  with  the  passengers,  I  don't 
see  how  any  one  could  be  the  wiser  on  that  score. 
Yes,  it  looks  as  though  everything  were  all  right — 
eh,  MacVightie?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  hope  so,"  MacVightie's  deep 
growl  came  in  reply.  "Anyhow,  we've  carried  out 
instructions  from  Washington,  and  it's  up  to  the 
Secret  Service  crowd  as  to  how  it  pans  out." 

"No,  it  isn't!"  declared  Lanson,  still  quietly.  "It 
isn't  up  to  a  soul  on  earth  except  those  of  us  who 
have  got  the  responsibility  of  this  division  on  our 
shoulders !  I  believe  the  plan  is  a  good  one,  but 
because  it  came  from  Washington  doesn't  let  us 
out — not  for  a  minute!  What  about  Birks;  has  he 
shown  up  yet?" 

"Not  yet,"  MacVightie  answered — and  swore 
suddenly  under  his  breath.  "And  I  don't  mind  ad- 
mitting that  the  crowd  down  there  in  Washington 
make  me  tired!  It's  over  two  weeks  ago  that  I  put 
it  up  to  them.  They  said  they  would  take  the  mat 
ter  under  consideration,  and  in  any  case  would  send 
one  of  their  men,  this  Birks,  out  here  to  make  an 
investigation.  But  nothing  doing!  Then,  as  you 
know,  I  wrote  them  again  a  week  ago,  when  we 
knew  this  Alaskan  gold  shipment  was  coming 
through,  and  you  know  their  reply;  they  outlined  a 
plan  for  us,  and  stated  definitely  that  Birks  would 


264  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

be  on  deck  to-night.  Maybe  he  will — in  time  to  tell 
us  what  we  should  have  done !" 

"The  Secret  Service  isn't  a  police  force,"  said 
Lanson  tersely.  "The  only  excuse  they  would  have 
for  acting  at  all  would  be  if  your  pet  theory  were 
correct — that  the  Hawk  and  his  gang,  apart  from 
their  systematised  murders  and  robberies,  were  also 
the  ones  who  have  been  flooding  the  country  with 
those  counterfeit  ten-dollar  notes.  You  had  no  ac- 
tual proof  to  offer,  and  Washington  evidently  hasn't 
felt  quite  so  sure  about  it  as  you  have.  However, 
there's  no  use  discussing  that  to-night.  If  Birks 
shows  up,  all  right;  if  he  doesn't — well,  I  don't  see 
that  he  could  make  any  difference  one  way  or  the 
other  now." 

There  was'  silence  for  a  moment,  then  Lanson 
spoke  again. 

"What  worries  me  as  much  as  anything,"  he  said 
slowly,  "is  the  express  company  making  a  shipment 
of  mon^y  at  the  same  time — forty  thousand  dollars 
in  the  car's  safe.  Of  course,  it's  logical  enough  with 
a  half  million  to  guard  anyway,  but  it's  an  added 
incentive  to  those  devils,  that's  all.  A  half  million 
in  raw  gold  isn't  any  easy  thing  to  pick  up  and  walk 
off  with,  and  there's  more  than  an  even  chance  that 
the  Wire  Devils  might  pass  it  up  on  that  account; 
but  with  banknotes  alone  in  so  large  an  amount " 

"If  they  know  about  it!"  interrupted  MacVightie 
brusquely.  "And  it's  not  likely  they  do !  You  can't 
send  a  heavily  guarded  express  car  on  from  the  coast 
and  keep  it  mum  that  gold  is  going  through,  es- 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL  265 

pecially  when  the  papers  print  pictures  of  the  cases 
being  swung  out  of  the  steamer's  hold  on  arrival 
from  Alaska — but  the  other's  different.  I'm  not 
banking  on  them  passing  up  the  gold  on  any  account, 
though  they  may,  at  that;  but  in  any  case  they'll  be 
welcome  to  open  the  safe  now,  won't  they?" 

Again  there  was  an  instant's  silence;  and  the 
Hawk  now,  as  though  fearful  of  losing  a  word  that 
might  be  spoken,  strained  forward  closer  still  to  the 
side  of  the  window. 

"Yes,  that's  right!"  Lanson  laughed  now  in  a 
grimly  humorous  way.  "It's  in  the  biggest  case  of 
all!  Yes,  I  guess  it's  all  right,  MacVightie;  any- 
way, another  hour  or  two  will  tell  the  story.  The 
shift  should  have  been  made  at  Mornleigh  without 
any  trouble,  and  the  Limited  will  come  through  here 
without  a  thing  in  the  express  car  except  the  guards ! 
If  they  hold  her  up  anywhere  on  the  division,  that's 
all  they'll  find — the  guards,  and  one  of  your  posses. 
Yes,  it  ought  to  work."  Lanson's  voice  took  on  a 
curiously  monotonous  drone,  as  though  he  were 
checking  over  the  details  in  his  own  mind,  and  un- 
consciously doing  so  audibly.  "The  Limited  takes 
water  at  Mornleigh,  and  No.  18  always  takes  the 
siding  there  to  let  the  Limited  pass,  so  there's  noth- 
ing in  that  to  arouse  suspicion.  In  the  darkness,  with 
the  door  of  the  Limited's  express  car  only  a  foot  or 
so  away  from  the  door  of  No.  i8's  baggage  car,  and 
a  picked  crew  to  transfer  the  gold,  I  don't  see  how 
there  could  be  any  'leak.'  The  Limited  pulls  in 
here  with  its  guarded  express  car — everything  looks 


266  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

just  as  those  Wire  Devils  would  expect  it  to  look—- 
and they  know  the  gold  left  the  coast  on  that  train, 
and  in  that  car.  Yes,  I  think  we  win  to-night.  If 
they  hold  up  the  Limited  they'll  catch  a  Tartar,  and 
without  any  risk  on  our  part  as  far  as  the  gold  is 
concerned.  How  many  men  in  the  posse  scattered 
through  the  cars  on  that  train?" 

"Twenty,"  said  MacVightie  tersely. 

"Good!"  said  Lanson  approvingly.  "That  ought 
to  be  enough  to  round  them  up — if  they  nibble  at 
the  bait  at  all.  And  if  they  don't,  if  they  let  the 
Limited  go  through  unmolested,  it  will  be  pretty 
nearly  safe  to  assume,  as  I  said  before,  that  they 
figure  gold  in  the  bulk  is  too  awkward  a  thing  to 
handle,  and  too  hard  to  get  away  with.  But  even 
there  we  are  not  taking  any  chances;  they  might 
have  discovered  that  it  had  been  transferred.  How 
many  men  in  the  posse  on  No.  18?" 

"The  same  number,"  replied  MacVightie — and 
then  MacVightie's  fist  crashed  down  into  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  "I  hope  they  start  something!"  he  ex- 
claimed savagely.  "I'd  give  a  year's  salary  to  get  to 
grips  with  them,  and  if  I  ever  do  I'll  clean  'em  out! 
And  I'll  see  that  some  of  them,  and  particularly 
that  damned  Hawk,  swing  for  it!  I  haven't  forgot- 
ten the  murder  of  old  Mother  Barrett's  boy  in  the 
express  car  that  night,  or  a  dozen  others,  or " 

"That's  your  end  of  it,  MacVightie,"  said  Lan- 
son grimly.  "Mine's  to  see  five  hundred  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  bullion  and  forty  thousand  in  cash 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 

over  this  division  and  safely  on  its  way  East.  If 
the  plan " 

The  Hawk,  slipping  silently  out  of  the  shadows, 
began  to  cross  the  railroad  yard,  heading  for  the 
station. 

"Forty  thousand  dollars,"  said  the  Hawk  softly 
to  himself — and  chuckled  suddenly.  "Forty  thou- 
sand dollars  in  a  big  packing  case!  The  biggest 
case  of  the  lot,  he  said,  wasn't  it?"  The  chuckle 
died  away,  and  the  Hawk's  face  grew  hard.  "I 
don't  know!"  muttered  the  Hawk.  "It's  no  cinch! 
I  guess  there'll  be  something  doing  to-night!" 

A  glance  at  the  illuminated  dial  of  the  clock  on 
the  station  tower  showed  it  to  be  half  past  eight, 
as  the  Hawk  stepped  to  the  platform.  He  hesitated 
an  instant  in  indecision,  then  went  on  into  the  gen- 
eral waiting  room.  There  was  ample  time.  The 
Limited  was  not  due  for  another  hour;  and  No.  18 
— in  which  alone  he  had  now  any  concern — did  not 
schedule  Selkirk  until  forty  minutes  after  the  Lim- 
ited. Nearly  two  hours! 

The  Hawk,  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the  wait- 
ing room,  ostentatiously  consulted  a  time-table  which 
he  drew  from  his  pocket,  frowned,  glanced  about 
him,  and,  finally,  approaching  the  news-counter, 
which  appeared  for  the  moment  to  be  minus  an  at- 
tendant, helped  himself  to  a  newspaper,  tossed  a 
copper  on  top  of  the  pile,  and  appropriated  the  near- 
est seat.  The  Hawk  opened  his  paper  in  front  of 
him — and  over  the  top  of  the  paper  inspected  with 
some  interest  the  view  afforded  by  the  open  doorway 


268  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

of  the  news-counter,  which  was  directly  facing  him 
and  but  a  few  feet  away.  The  news-counter  was 
a  long,  narrow  affair,  glass  enclosed,  with  big  slid- 
ing windows,  making  one  corner  of  the  waiting  room, 
and  at  its  further  end  boasted  a  little  office  of  its  own. 
The  door  of  this  private  domain  was  closed,  but  it, 
too,  was  glass  panelled,  and  the  apparent  absence  of 
*any  attendant  was  explained.  The  Hawk  permitted 
a  curious  smile  to  flicker  across  his  lips  behind  his 
newspaper.  Inside  the  little  office  a  man,  sprawled 
forward  in  a  chair,  his  head  resting  on  his  arms, 
which  were  outflung  across  the  desk  in  front  of  him, 
appeared  to  be  sound  asleep  and  magnificently  ob- 
livious to  anything  so  grossly  material  as  business. 

The  Hawk  shifted  his  glance,  this  time  for  a  more 
critical  survey  of  the  waiting  room.  He  found  him- 
self, strangely  enough,  quite  sheltered  from  observa- 
tion. True,  it  was  "between  trains,"  and  there  were 
very  few  people  in  the  room — he  had  noted  sev- 
eral women  and  an  elderly  man  with  a  little  boy,  as 
he  had  come  in — but  these  were  now  screened  from 
his  view  by  the  large,  boxed-in  posts,  or  pillars,  that, 
in  the  remodelling  and  enlargement  of  the  station 
some  years  before,  had  sought  to  combine,  evidently, 
ornamentation  with  stability. 

The  Hawk's  eyes,  under  cover  of  his  newspaper, 
reverted  to  the  man  at  the  desk.  The  minutes 
passed — five,  ten  of  them.  The  man's  hours  were 
long  undoubtedly,  and  usually  there  were  two  in 
charge  of  the  news-counter,  which  might  perhaps  ac- 
count for  the  man's  weariness,  and  the  profound 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL  269 

slumber  that  was  possible  even  in  such  an  uncom- 
fortable position !  The  Hawk  turned  to  the  edi- 
torial page  of  his  newspaper.  There  were  almost 
two  hours  before  No.  18  was  due,  and,  though  he 
had  a  little  business  of  a  purely  personal  and  inti- 
mate nature  to  transact  before  then,  there  was  time 
in  abundance  and  to  spare,  and  it  might  possibly  be 
utilised  as  profitably  here  as  anywhere  else.  In  any 
case,  there  was  usually  an  editorial  diatribe,  interest- 
ing principally  for  the  virulent  language  in  which  it 
was  couched,  anent  the  Hawk  and  the  Wire  Devils, 
with  whose  leadership  he,  the  Hawk,  was  universally 
credited.  The  Hawk  smiled  thinly.  If  leadership 
was  vested  in  the  lion's  portion  of  the  spoils,  then 
MacVightie,  and  Lanson,  and  the  newspapers,  and 
the  public  generally  were  unquestionably  right — but, 
since  those  spoils  had  been  snatched  from  under  the 
noses  of  the  Wire  Devils,  thanks  to  his  possession 
of  their  secret  code,  the  Wire  Devils  and  the  Lady- 
bird in  particular,  that  peer  of  the  underworld  who, 
as  he  had  discovered  a  few  nights  ago,  was  the  mov- 
ing spirit  of  the  gang,  held  a  very  different  and  even 
more  decided  opinion  on  the  subject! 

He  folded  the  paper  over,  and  sprawled  himself 
out  lazily  on  his  seat — but  if  the  editorial  in  ques- 
tion was  on  the  sheet  before  him,  he  did  not  see  it. 
The  man  at  the  desk  raised  his  head,  yawned, 
stretched  himself,  and,  as  though  wearily  resuming 
his  work,  reached  into  a  small  drawer  that  stood 
open  in  the  upper  section  of  the  roll-top  desk,  took 
out  a  pad  of  paper,  and  began  to  write. 


270  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Still  another  five  minutes  passed;  and  then  the 
man  tossed  his  pencil  away  from  him,  and  reached 
out  for  the  telephone  at  his  elbow.  But  now  he 
seemed  to  hesitate,  then  evidently  changed  his  mind. 
He  pushed  back  his  chair,  stood  up,  tore  the  sheet 
of  paper  on  which  he  had  been  writing  from  the  pad, 
replaced  the  pad  in  the  drawer,  closed  the  drawer, 
and,  turning  quickly,  opened  the  office  door.  He 
came  down  the  narrow  space  behind  the  news-counter 
itself,  stepped  out  into  the  waiting  room,  glanced 
hurriedly  about  him,  and,  breaking  suddenly  into  a 
run,  disappeared  through  the  waiting  room  door  in 
the  direct!^  of  the  platform. 

The  Hawks  lassitude  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
vanished.  In  a  flash  he  had  covered  the  few  feet 
of  space  that  separated  his  seat  from  the  doorway  of 
the  news-counter,  and  now,  crouched  low,  hidden  by 
the  counter  itself,  he  darted  silently  for  the  little 
office,  gained  it,  wrenched  open  the  drawer  o'  the 
desk — and  over  the  Hawk's  set,  tense  features  there 
flickered  again  that  curious  smile.  Faint,  muffled, 
but  none  the  less  distinctly,  there  came  from  the  in- 
terior of  the  drawer,  which,  as  he  reached  in  his 
hand,  he  found  was  open  through  to  the  wall,  the 
clicking  of  a  telegraph  sounder.  But,  while  he  lis- 
tened, the  Hawk  was  working  with  breathless  haste. 
His  fingers  closed  on  the  pad  of  paper,  and  tore  off 
the  topmost  sheet.  Without  folding  or  crushing  the 
paper,  he  laid  it  carefully  inside  his  vest,  buttoned 
his  vest  over  it  again,  closed  the  drawer  of  the  desk 
noiselessly — and  in  another  instant  was  lolling  again 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 

in  his  seat  in  the  waiting  room,  apparently  immersed 
once  more  in  his  newspaper. 

It  had  taken  the  Hawk  a  matter  of  less  than  a 
minute  to  go  and  come,  but  for  all  that  his  margin 
of  safety  had  been  small.  The  man  returned  al- 
most instantly,  and  again  entered  the  office.  The 
Hawk,  finding  that  for  once  the  editorial  which 
might  have  afforded  him  a  genuine,  if  passing,  inter- 
est, was  absent,  turned  another  page  of  the  paper, 
spent  a  few  minutes  in  the  somewhat  unprofitable 
perusal  of  what  proved  to  be  massed  columns  of 
"Help  Wanted"  and  "Situations  Vacant"  advertise- 
ments, and,  finally,  throwing  the  paper  down  on  the 
seat  beside  him,  got  up  leisurely,  and  strolled  out 
through  the  main  entrance  of  the  station  to  the 
street. 

The  Hawk  crossed  the  road,  and  slipped  into  the 
lane  that  was  almost  opposite  the  station.  This 
being  accustomed  ground  to  the  Hawk,  he  made  his 
way  quickly  along  in  the  blackness,  reached  the  first 
intersecting  street,  dove  through  the  doorway  of 
the  dirty  and  squalid  three-story  building,  the  ground 
floor  of  which  was  occupied  by  a  saloon,  and,  mount- 
ing the  narrow  staircase,  entered  the  room  that  was 
directly  over  the  saloon  on  the  first  landing.  The 
Hawk  locked  the  door  behind  him.  If  his  tempor- 
ary abode  in  Selkirk  City  could  be  so  designated, 
the  Hawk  was  at  home. 

He  switched  on  the  electric  light,  drew  a  chair  up 
to  the  cheap  and  somewhat  dilapidated  table  that 
stood  against  the  wall  opposite  the  door,  and  from 


272  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

under  his  vest  took  out  the  sheet  of  paper  he  had 
purloined  a  few  minutes  before.  He  spread  it  out 
eagerly  before  him  on  the  table,  scanned  it  closely, 
and  into  his  dark  eyes  there  came  a  half  mocking, 
half  triumphant  gleam. 

"I  thought  so!"  murmured  the  Hawk.  "He 
didn't  dare  telephone  it.  I  thought  the  messages 
must  be  coming  in  pretty  hot  to-night — the  other 
fellow  must  have  gone  up  to  the  East  End  to  shoot 
some  mighty  important  reply  back,  or  else  he'd  never 
have  left  his  pal  short-handed.  It's  no  wonder  I 
never  tumbled  to  that  lay  until  the  Ladybird  opened 
the  bag!  I  didn't  recognise  those  news-counter  fel- 
lows, did  I?  Why  should  I?  They're  new  ones 
just  breaking  into  the  game,  or  they'd  never  have 
pulled  a  fool  stunt  like  this  1" 

The  Hawk  bent  over  the  paper.  In  places  the 
impression  left  by  the  pencil  was  faint  and,  indeed, 
illegible,  and  had  not  come  through  from  the  upper 
sheet  at  all;  but  the  Hawk  patiently  and  painstak- 
ingly settled  himself  to  his  task.  The  first  few  lines 
were  but  a  confused  and,  to  all  outward  appearances, 
meaningless  jumble  of  letters  run  together — one  of 
the  Wire  Devils'  code  messages.  And  here,  if  this 
had  been  all,  the  Hawk  would  have  been  hopelessly 
astray;  but  lower  down  on  the  sheet  the  man  had 
decoded  the  cipher,  and  here,  where  letters  and 
words  were  too  faintly  impressed  on  the  paper  or 
were  missing  altogether,  the  Hawk  was  able  to  sup- 
ply them  by  following  the  general  sense  of  the  mes- 
sage. He  began  by  tracing  over  the  impressions 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL  273 

carefully  with  a  sharp  lead  pencil,  and  at  the  expira- 
tion of  a  few  minutes  was  staring,  a  grim  smile  on 
his  lips,  at  the  following: 

"Gold  transferred  to  No.  18  at  Mornleigh. 
Keep  away  from  Limited.  Probably  big  posse 
on  No.  1 8.  Every  man  will  join  Number  One 
on  Train  18  to-night.  Those  boarding  No.  18 
at  Selkirk  must  on  no  account  excite  suspicion. 
All  other  details  to  stand." 

The  Hawk's  remark,  as  he  reached  into  his  in- 
side coat  pocket  and  brought  out  several  small  slips 
of  paper,  which  he  laid  on  the  table  in  front  of  him, 
was  seemingly  quite  irrelevant. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hawk.  "I've  been  curious  ever 
since  yesterday  to  get  a  look  at  that  desk — yes,  I 
guess  the  Ladybird's  no  fool!" 

The  Hawk  arranged  the  slips  of  paper  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  sort  of  chronological  order,  and 
studied  them  for  a  moment.  Prefacing  the  mes- 
sage he  had  just  obtained,  these  others,  messages 
that  he  had  intercepted  at  intervals  during  the  pre- 
ceding few  days,  made  a  complete  and  decidedly  en- 
lightening record.  The  first  one,  decoded,  read: 

"Reported  movement  of  half  million  in  gold 
to  be  made  from  coast.  Number  Three  will 
proceed  to  coast,  verify,  and  secure  details." 

The  Hawk  nodded  shortly.  Number  Three  was 
the  Bantam.  He  passed  on  to  the  next  message: 


274  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"Gold  coming  through  on  Limited  on  Thurs- 
day night.  Express  car  well  guarded.  Num- 
bers One,  Seven,  Eight.  Six  and  Four  will  board 
Limited  at  different  stopping  points  west  of 
Mornleigh;  all  others  to  hold  themselves  in 
readiness  at  Selkirk." 

Again  the  Hawk  nodded.  This  was  Thursday 
night!  Mornleigh  was  the  Limited's  last  stop  west 
of  Selkirk.  Number  One  was  the  Butcher,  and  the 
others  were — he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  As  he  had 
once  facetiously  remarked,  somebody  must  have  left 
the  door  of  Sing  Sing  open ! 

There  was  still  another  message: 

"Hold  up  train  three  miles  East  of  Echo 
Rock.  Detach  express  car,  and  run  to  Willow 
Creek  bridge.  Load  gold  on  wagon,  and  dis- 
perse." 

The  Hawk  consulted  his  watch.  It  was  a  quarter 
past  nine.  He  took  out  his  pipe,  lighted  it,  put  his 
feet  up  on  the  table,  and  gathering  together  the 
various  slips  of  paper  abstractedly  began  to  tear 
them  into  shreds. 

Pieced  together,  the  whole  affair  was  quite  sim- 
ple. In  a  word,  every  move  that  had  been  made 
by  Lanson  and  MacVightie  at  the  instigation  of  the 
Secret  Service  men,  and,  presumably,  in  particular 
by  one  Birks,  was  known  to  the  Ladybird  and  the 
Wire  Devils.  Lanson  and  MacVightie  had  waited 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL  275 

until  the  last  moment  before  making  the  transfer 
at  Mornleigh,  the  final  stop  before  Selkirk,  but  the 
Bantam  was  already  accompanying  the  gold  east 
on  the  Limited,  and,  added  to  the  Bantam  by  that 
time,  there  would  have  been  those  others  who  were 
detailed  to  board  the  Limited  at  the  various  points 
still  further  west  of  Mornleigh. 

It  was  very  simple.  The  Bantam  had  not  been 
asleep  at  Mornleigh,  and  it  was  not  the  contents  of 
the  express  car  alone  that  had  been  transferred 
there — the  Bantam  and  his  companions  had  likewise 
transferred  themselves  to  No.  18  !  Also,  either  be- 
cause the  Bantam  had  spotted  some  of  MacVightie's 
men,  or  because  logical  deductions  in  the  Ladybird's 
very  shrewd  brain  had  led  to  that  conclusion,  it  was 
known  that  No.  18  harboured  a  posse.  It  was  evi- 
dent, however,  that  this  in  no  way  dismayed  the 
Ladybird;  and  it  was  equally  evident  that  both  Lan- 
son  and  MacVightie  were  very  far  astray,  in  their 
estimate  of  the  nerve  and  resourcefulness  of  the 
brain  behind  the  Wire  Devils'  organisation,  to  have 
even  considered  it  as  a  possibility  that  the  physical 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  handling  a  half  million  in 
raw  gold  would  have  caused  the  Ladybird  to  hesi- 
tate an  instant  in  an  effort  to  get  his  hands  upon  it. 
A  half  million — was  a  half  million!  That  was  the 
answer !  The  only  change  the  Ladybird  had  seen 
fit  to  make  was  to  mobilise,  as  it  were,  the  entire 
strength  of  the  Wire  Devils  to  offset  MacVightie's 
posse.  Apart  from  that,  according  to  the  final  mes- 
sage, the  prearranged  plan  was  to  stand. 


276  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

It  was  not  a  plan  that  was  markedly  original, 
paralleling  very  closely,  as  it  did,  the  Wire  Devils' 
removal  of  the  safe  from  the  express  car  of  the  Fast 
Mail  on  a  certain  night  not  very  long  since,  but  this 
could  hardly  be  held  up  against  the  Ladybird — there 
were  limitations  to  originality,  and  originality  was 
a  secondary  consideration  as  compared  with  feasi- 
bility and  success.  Echo  Rock  station  was  two  sta- 
tions east  of  Conmore,  the  Wire  Devils'  headquar- 
ters— just  far  enough  distant  to  preclude  the  im- 
mediate search  from  spreading  to  the  neighbourhood 
of  Conmore,  and  yet  not  too  far  away  to  make  the 
transport  of  the  gold  to  the  isolated  old  farmhouse 
impractical  before  daylight.  The  details  of  the  hold- 
up itself  required  little  elucidation.  In  whatever 
manner  they  might  elect  to  bring  the  train  to  a  stop, 
all  that  was  necessary,  once  that  was  accomplished, 
was  to  keep  MacVigh tie's  men  from  No.  i8's  bag- 
gage car  while  the  car  itself,  into  which  the  Wire 
Devils  would  naturally  retreat,  moved  off  down 
the  line  to  the  Willow  Creek  bridge  some  two  or 
three  miles  further  on. 

The  Hawk  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips,  polished 
the  bowl  by  rubbing  it  along  the  side  of  his  nose,  and 
inspected  the  result  critically.  And  then  the  Hawk 
smiled  pleasantly  to  himself.  In  none  of  the  mes- 
sages had  the  Wire  Devils  given  the  slightest  evi- 
dence of  any  knowledge  of  a  fact  that  was  very 
near  to  his,  the  Hawk's,  heart.  It  was  quite  pos- 
sible, even  probable,  that  on  one  point,  at  least, 
Lanson  and  MacVightie  were  right — that  the  Wire 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL  217 

Devils  were  ignorant  of  the  presence  of  that  forty 
thousand  dollars  in  bills — but  even  supposing  that 
they  did  know,  they  would  scarcely  give  him,  the 
Hawk,  credit  for  being  in  possession  of  the  knowl- 
edge as  well.  Therefore,  bitter  as  was  the  feud 
between  them,  the  Ladybird  would  be  almost  cer- 
tain to  ignore  his,  the  Hawk's  existence  in  so  far  as 
this  night's  work  was  concerned.  The  Hawk's  smile 
broadened.  It  was  quite  true,  single-handed  he 
would  have  no  excuse  on  earth  for  attempting  the 
impossible  feat  of  carrying  away  a  half  million  in 
gold — but  forty  thousand  dollars  in  banknotes  was 
not  as  prohibitory  in  its  weight  I  His  problem,  there- 
fore, simplified  itself  into  an  intimate  investigation 
of  No.  i8's  baggage  car  before  Echo  Rock  was 
reached,  and  before  either  MacVightie's  posse,  or 
the  Butcher  and  his  ungentle  crowd  in  the  cars  be- 
hind, should  have  started  anything  on  their  own 
account. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hawk  confidentially  to  the  toe  of 
his  boot,  "yes,  I  guess  I'll  sit  in  for  a  hand  in  the 
game  myself;  yes,  I  guess  it  looks  pretty  good — if 
the  luck  holds." 

The  Hawk  relapsed  into  silence,  still  studying  the 
toe  of  his  boot.  His  last  remark  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  obsessed  him,  and  he  frowned.  If  the  luck 
still  held !  It  wasn't  altogether  luck — indeed,  it  was 
far  from  luck.  The  Ladybird,  and,  for  that  mat- 
ter, a  half  dozen  others  of  the  Wire  Devils  whom 
he  could  name,  were  not  to  be  lightly  reckoned  with. 
He  had  no  delusions  on  that  score!  Since  the  day 


278  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

he  had  begun  to  trespass  on  the  Wire  Devils  pre- 
serves, listening  when  and  where  he  could,  he  had 
intercepted  enough  of  their  cipher  messages  as  they 
came  over  the  wires  to  enable  him  to  pull  from  the 
fire  and  pocket  for  himself  the  chestnuts  they  had 
been  so  carefully  roasting  for  themselves,  to  turn  in 
fact  the  entire  labour  and  effort  of  their  organisa- 
tion to  his  own  account — and  in  their  turn  they  had 
sought  by  every  means  within  their  power  to  trap 
him.  And  they  had  nearly  caught  him,  very  nearly 
caught  him  once,  and  he  had  realised  that  the  hap- 
hazard method  in  which,  not  knowing  their  source, 
he  had  been  able  to  obtain  the  cipher  messages  would 
no  longei  do.  It  was  through  those  messages  alone 
that  he  could  hope  to  get  a  hint  of,  and  thereby  fore- 
stall, the  next  trap  they  might  set  for  him.  And  then 
the  way  had  seemed  to  clear  a  little  when  he  had 
at  last  discovered  that  source  in  the  old  farmhouse 
near  Conmore,  and  had  discovered  that  the  Lady- 
bird, thought  dead  and  mourned  by  the  underworld 
as  one  of  its  greatest,  from  a  wheel  chair  now,  a 
maimed  thing  in  all  save  brain,  moved  and  guided 
what  MacVightie  had  been  pleased  to  call  the  most 
powerful  and  dangerous  criminal  organisation  that 
had  ever  known  existence.  Only  on  the  night  that 
he,  the  Hawk,  had  made  those  discoveries  he  had 
been  wounded!  That  was  a  week  ago.  For  three 
days,  not  daring  to  let  it  be  known  that  a  wounded 
man  was  in  the  house,  he  had  remained  here  in  his 
room,  nursing  his  hurt  as  best  he  could.  It  had  only 
been  a  flesh  wound,  and  those  three  days  were  all 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL  279 

he  had  allowed  himself  to  remain  inactive;  for  in 
those  three  days,  temporarily  blindfolded  as  to  any 
move  against  him  that  the  Ladybird  might  make,  he 
had  lived  like  a  hunted  man,  wary  of  every  passing 
moment,  of  every  sound  without  his  door,  his  auto- 
matic never  for  an  instant  out  of  reach.  After  that, 
during  the  past  four  nights,  he  had  resumed  his  vigil 
at  the  farmhouse  again. 

The  Hawk  smiled  grimly.  No,  he  laboured  un- 
der no  delusions  as  to  the  craft,  the  cunning,  and  the 
power  of  those  against  whom  he  had  elected  to  play 
a  lone  hand!  The  four  nights  just  past  had  re- 
sulted in  something  more  than  the  mere  accumula- 
tion of  those  code  messages  he  had  just  read,  in 
something  besides  a  more  intimate  acquaintanceship 
with  the  farmhouse  and  its  surroundings,  even  in- 
cluding the  underground  passage,  for  instance,  that 
led  from  the  wagon  shed  to  a  trapdoor  in  the  cel- 
lar— it  had  resulted,  last  night,  in  a  still  further  in- 
sight into  the  ingenuity  and  the  sort  of  remorseless 
mastery  of  detail  through  which  the  organisation 
attained  its  ends.  The  method  by  which  they  tapped 
the  wires,  commandeering  the  telegraph  system  of 
the  railroad,  the  primary  purpose  of  which  was  un- 
doubtedly to  supply  them  with  the  vital  information 
that  must  of  necessity  pass  over  the  wires  and  on 
which  they  based  their  own  plans,  this  gold  ship- 
ment to-night,  for  example,  or  the  shipment  of  dia- 
monds from  New  York  of  a  few  weeks  back,  was 
ingenious  enough;  but  still  more  ingenious,  when 
Msing  their  secret  code  and  putting  the  wires  to  an- 


280  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

other  purpose,  that  of  enabling  the  Ladybird  to 
direct  his  operations  and  send  his  orders  as  he  had 
done  to-night,  was  the  method  by  which  those  mes- 
sages were  received.  Every  sounder  on  the  line 
carried  them,  of  course,  and  when,  in  isolated  cases, 
the  gang  was  working  at  smaller  places  along  the 
line,  they  could  readily  enough,  if  expecting  a  mes- 
sage, as  he,  the  Hawk,  had  often  done,  keep  within 
sound  of  an  instrument  by  the  simple  expedient  of 
occupying  a  waiting  room,  or  of  lounging  on  the 
platform  outside  the  operator's  window;  but  the  vast 
majority  of  the  messages  were  for  those  of  the  gang 
who  maintained  a  sort  of  branch  headquarters  in 
Selkirk,  and  such  a  method  was  neither  practical  nor 
possible,  since  the  first  essential  in  making  the  scheme 
of  value  was  that,  without  the  chance  of  a  single 
message  being  missed,  the  messages  should  reach 
their  destination  at  any  hour  of  the  day  and  night. 
Again  the  Hawk  smiled  grimly.  It  had  puzzled 
him  a  good  many  times — but  it  puzzled  him  no  long- 
er! Last  night  the  Ladybird,  quite  unconscious  of 
a  rapt  audience,  had,  by  a  chance  remark,  disclosed 
the  secret;  and  to-night  he,  the  Hawk,  had  seen  the 
plan  in  operation!  The  news-counter!  It  was  sim- 
ple enough;  but  it  held  a  deadly  significance  in  its 
proof  of  the  fact  that  there  were  no  obstacles  too 
great,  no  details  too  minute  to  stand  in  the  way  be- 
tween the  Ladybird  and  the  end  he  sought.  The 
news-counter  was  directly  beneath  the  operator's 
room  upstairs.  In  the  old  days,  before  the  station 
had  been  enlarged  and  modernised,  it  had  been  a 


281 

somewhat  diminutive  affair,  and  where  the  news- 
counter  now  stood  had  been  the  superintendent's  of- 
fice. This  had  connected  with  the  room  above  by 
means  of  an  old-fashioned  speaking  tube.  When  the 
alterations  had  been  made,  the  mouthpieces,  both 
above  and  below,  had  been  removed,  the  room  above 
had  been  papered  over,  and  the  waiting  room  had 
been  plastered;  but,  as  the  wall  had  been  left  intact, 
the  speaking  tube  had  remained  embedded — in  the 
wall.  Yes,  it  was  very  simple!  Say,  a  dint  in  the 
wall  in  the  operator's  room  above,  and  a  slight  tear 
in  the  paper  that,  if  it  attracted  any  attention  at  all 
in  surroundings  where  the  call  boys  backed  their 
chairs  against  the  wall  and  kept  their  hair  on  end 
with  nickel  thrillers,  would  at  least  never  excite  sus- 
picion! And  below,  with  the  desk  in  the  little  of- 
fice of  the  news-counter  backed  up  against  it,  who 
was  to  know  that  a  hole  had  been  punched  in  the 
wall,  or,  for  that  matter,  in  the  back  of  the  desk 
itself  behind  the  convenient  little  drawer,  so  that  one 
could  sit  there  and  listen  to  the  sounder  upstairs! 
Also,  it  was  quite  obvious  now  why,  several  months 
ago,  the  old  lessee  of  the  news-counter  had  been 
bought  out  by  some  newcomers ! 

The  Hawk's  lips  tightened.  The  game  to  its  full 
extent  was  wide  open  now.  The  news-counter  ran 
day  and  night,  operated  by  four  of  the  gang  in 
pairs,  one  always  on  duty  at  the  desk;  while,  should 
there,  by  any  chance  or  at  any  time,  be  an  unwel- 
come intruder  in  the  office,  the  drawer  had  only  to 
be  shut  and  the  sound  was  thereby  eliminated.  When 


282  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

a  message  "broke"  over  the  wires  above,  the  man 
on  duty  had  only  to  decipher  it  and  telephone  it  to 
what  the  Ladybird  had  referred  to  as  the  "boarding 
house" — the  disguise,  it  appeared  now,  under  which 
the  gang  maintained  its  headquarters  in  the  city. 
That  was  all  there  was  to  it !  To-night,  it  was  true, 
the  operation  had  been  a  little  different;  but  the 
reason  for  that,  as  the  Hawk  had  already  decided  in 
his  own  mind,  was  obvious  enough.  With  MacVigh- 
tie,  Lanson,  and  the  authorities  generally,  on  the 
alert,  due  to  the  gold  shipment  coming  through,  the 
man  had  not  dared  to  take  the  risk  of  telephoning 
any  such  message  as  he  had  received,  but  had  taken 
it  outside  to  where  one  of  the  gang,  undoubtedly,  in 
view  of  the  importance  of  the  night's  work,  was  on 
additional  duty  and  in  readiness  to  receive  and 
transmit  it  on  the  instant,  say,  to  the  local  head- 
quarters. As  for  the  absence  of  the  second  man  at 
the  news-counter,  who  ordinarily  preserved  the  pre- 
tence of  catering  to  the  public,  it  was  quite  possible, 
and  indeed  likely,  that  he  had  gone  on  a  similar  er- 
rand with  a  previous  message;  or,  if  one  of  the  rare 
occasions  when  it  was  necessary  to  telegraph  a  ci- 
pher message  from  Selkirk  had  arisen,  he  might  have 
gone — according  to  the  Ladybird  again — to  the  little 
suburban  station  at  the  East  End  of  the  city,  which 
was  closed  at  night,  but  to  which  an  entry  and  the 
subsequent  use  of  the  wire  would  present  little  dif- 
ficulty, since  MacVightie  had  finally  given  up  as  im- 
possible the  task  of  guarding  all  the  numerous  sta- 
tions of  that  description  on  the  division. 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL  283 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hawk  suddenly,  under  his  breath, 
"I  guess  they'd  go  a  long  way  to  get  their  hands  on 
what  I've  got  off  their  bat;  and  I  guess,  after  that, 
I'd  go  out — like  a  pricked  bubble !"  He  sucked  medi- 
tatively at  his  brier  for  a  moment;  then  a  mirthless 
smile  parted  his  lips,  and  he  spoke  again.  "Forty 
thousand  dollars,"  whispered  the  Hawk.  "Yes,  I 
guess  that's  the  play — and  the  last  one!  If  I  win 
out  to-night,  and  I  guess  I  will,  this  is  where  the 
curtain  drops,  and  the  Hawk  makes  his  fade-away 
for  parts  unknown  1" 


THE  HAWK  PACKS  HIS  VALISE 


I 


Hawk  looked  at  his  watch  again,  re- 
moved his  feet  from  the  table,  knocked 
the  ashes  from  the  bowl  of  his  pipe,  stood 
up,  and  crossed  leisurely  to  the  window. 
The  window  gave  on  the  fire  escape.  He  lifted 
aside  the  shade,  and  stood  there  for  a  moment  star- 
ing out  into  the  darkness,  then  drew  the  shade  very 
carefully  back  into  place  again.  From  the  window 
he  crossed  to  the  door,  reassured  himself  that  it  was 
locked,  and,  as  an  extra  precaution,  draped  his  hand- 
kerchief on  the  door  handle,  completely  screening 
the  keyhole. 

He  returned  now  to  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
and  from  under  the  bed  pulled  out  a  large,  black 
valise.  He  laid  this  on  the  bed,  and  opened  it.  It 
was  quite  empty. 

Between  the  bed  and  the  table  stood  his  trunk. 
He  unlocked  the  trunk,  and  threw  back  the  lid. 

"It's  quite  possible,"  muttered  the  Hawk,  as  his 
fingers  worked  deftly  and  swiftly  around  the  edges 
of  the  lid,  "that  I  may  not  return.  I've  forgotten 
just  how  I  stand  on. my  rent,  though  I  fancy  I've 
paid  up  for  a  week  in  advance  I  In  any  case,  there's 


THE  HAWK  PACKS  HIS  VALISE        285 

the  trunk  for  old  Seidelberger  downstairs,  and  like- 
wise its  contents,  with  the  exception,  scarcely  worth 
mentioning — of  this!"  There  was  a  grim  chuckle 
on  the  Hawk's  lips,  as  the  false  tray  came  away  in 
his  hands.  "Yes,"  said  the  Hawk,  as  he  laid  the 
tray  on  the  bed  beside  the  valise,  "I  hardly  think  that 
I'll  be  back!  I  guess  they're  pretty  peeved  as  it  is, 
and  after  to-night  I've  a  notion  their  sentiments 
aren't  going  to  improve  any!" 

He  stood  looking  down  at  the  tray,  that  bulged 
to  repletion  with  the  proceeds  of  a  dozen  robberies 
that  were  almost  country-wide  in  fame,  and  which, 
more  pertinent  still  as  far  as  the  Hawk  was  con- 
cerned, represented  the  loot  that  the  Wire  Devils 
had  already  counted  their  own — when  he,  the  Hawk, 
instead,  had  helped  himself  to  the  prize  at  their 
expense ! 

The  Hawk  began  to  transfer  the  contents  of  the 
tray  to  the  valise. 

"I  don't  know  how  big  the  lot  would  size  up,  but 
it  looks  like  a  garden  villa  at  Palm  Beach — which  is 
going  some !"  observed  the  Hawk  softly.  "Yes,  just 
one  more  little  play  to-night,  and  I  guess  I  retire!" 

He  held  the  magnificent  diamond  necklace  up  to 
the  light,  causing  its  thousand  facets  to  leap  and 
gleam  and  scintillate  in  fiery  flashes,  then  laid  it  in  a 
curiously  caressing  sort  of  way  in  the  bottom  of  the 
valise.  The  Hawk  seemed  peculiarly  entranced  with 
diamonds,  as  though  in  their  touch  and  in  their  re- 
sponsive life  and  fire  he  found  a  pure  and  unalloyed 
delight.  From  their  little  box  he  allowed  the  score  or 


286  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

two  of  unset  stones  to  trickle  into  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  and  again  he  brought  the  light  to  flash  and 
play  upon  them.  And  for  a  moment  he  held  them 
there — then  a  sudden  hardness  set  his  jaws  and  lips, 
and  impulsively  he  thrust  the  stones  back  into  the 
box,  and  tossed  the  box  into  the  valise. 

"Damn  it!"  said  the  Hawk  through  compressed 
lips.  "They  make  me  think  of  the  kid — and  old 
Mother  Barrett." 

He  laughed  harshly,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
as  though  literally  to  throw  off  the  weight  of  an 
unpleasant  memory — and  reached  again  into  the 
tray.  He  worked  more  quickly  now.  Into  the  valise 
he  packed  away  in  rapid  succession  a  very  large  col- 
lection of  valuables,  amongst  them  the  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  banknotes  that  he  had  taken  from  the  pay- 
master's safe,  the  contents  of  the  cash  box,  amount- 
ing to  some  three  thousand  dollars,  of  which  he  had 
once  relieved  one  Isaac  Kirschell,  and,  still  in  its 
newspaper  wrapper,  the  Trader's  National  Bank's 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  likewise  in  banknotes, 
which  had  been  his  last  venture,  and  which  he  had 
appropriated  on  the  night  he  had  been  wounded. 

The  tray  was  empty  now,  save  for  a  black  mask, 
a  steel  jimmy,  and  a  neat  little  package  of  crisp, 
new,  ten-dollar  counterfeit  notes.  The  two  former 
articles  the  Hawk  laid  aside  on  the  table;  and  the 
latter,  after  an  instant's  hesitation,  was  added  to  the 
horde  in  the  valise.  He  closed  and  locked  the  valise. 
There  remained  now  but  the  empty  tray.  He  stared 
at  this  ruefully. 


THE  HAWK  PACKS  HIS  VALISE        287 

"I  hate  to  lose  that  trunk,  upon  my  soul,  I  do!" 
he  muttered.  "But  I  can't  afford  to  take  any  chances 
of  spilling  the  beans  by  trying  to  get  it  out  of  here  I" 

He  took  out  his  knife,  and  slashed  away  the  canvas 
bottom  of  the  tray,  then  broke  the  framework  into 
a  dozen  pieces.  The  lid  of  the  trunk  itself  was  in- 
nocent of  fastenings,  or  of  any  evidence  that  it  had 
ever  concealed  a  tray;  and  the  tray  itself,  when  the 
Hawk  was  through  with  it,  was  an  unrecognisable 
debris  of  splintered  wood  and  ribbons  of  torn  can- 
vas. He  made  a  bundle  of  this,  tying  it  together 
with  a  strip  of  the  canvas. 

The  Hawk  now  emptied  his  pockets,  and  proceed- 
ed to  change  his  clothes.  If  he  were  destined  to 
sacrifice  the  greater  part  of  his  wardrobe,  he  at 
least  need  not  linger  long  in  indecision  over  the 
choice  of  what  should  be  preserved!  There  was  an 
exceedingly  useful  and  ingeniously  devised  pocket 
concealed  in  the  back  lining  of  a  certain  one  of  his 
coats.  The  suit,  of  which  this  coat  was  an  integral 
part,  was  a  trifle  worn  and  threadbare,  not  in  quite 
as  good  repair  as  any  of  the  rest  of  his  clothing,  and 
for  that  reason  he  had  not  worn  it  of  late;  but  one 
could  not  at  all  times  afford  to  be  fastidious !  What 
he  left  behind  would  be  minutely  searched  and  ex- 
amined. The  secret  of  that  pocket,  a  little  inven- 
tion of  his  own,  was  worth  preserving  from  the  vul- 
gar eye,  even  at  the  expense  of  sacrificing  a  better 
suit  of  clothes  for  the  sake  of  it!  He  resurrected 
the  suit  in  question  from  the  bottom  of  the  trunk,  and 
put  it  on.  And  into  the  concealed  pocket  he  tucked 


388  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

away  his  mask  and  his  bunch  of  skeleton  keys.  A 
side  coat  pocket,  more  instantly  accessible,  served 
for  his  automatic — the  other  pockets  for  his  various 
other  belongings,  including  the  steel  jimmy. 

The  Hawk  made  a  final  and  comprehensive  sur- 
vey of  the  room,  then  closed  and  locked  the  trunk, 
and  again  consulted  his  watch.  It  was  five  minutes 
after  ten,  and  No.  18  scheduled  Selkirk  at  ten-twen- 
ty. The  Hawk  nodded.  It  was  time  to  go — just 
time.  He  took  from  his  pocket  his  automatic,  tested 
and  examined  its  mechanism  critically,  and  restored 
it  to  his  pocket.  He  crossed  the  room,  turned  out 
the  light,  unlocked  the  door  without  opening  it,  and 
took  his  handkerchief  from  the  keyhole.  Without  a 
sound  now  the  Hawk  moved  back  to  the  bed,  picked 
up  the  valise,  tucked  the  bundle  of  what  had  once 
been  the  tray  under  his  arm,  returned  to  the  door, 
opened  it  silently,  and  stood  peering  out  into  the 
dark  hallway — and  the  next  instant,  the  Hawk,  steal- 
ing like  a  shadow  down  the  stairs,  gained  the  street, 
and  in  another  had  swung  around  the  corner  into 
the  lane. 

It  was  only  the  length  of  a  block  to  the  station, 
but  here  in  the  lane  the  Hawk  found  means  of  dis- 
posing of  the  irksome  bundle  under  his  arm  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  dropping  pieces  of  the  wreckage 
in  the  various  refuse  barrels  as  he  went  along.  Nor 
had  the  Hawk,  evidently,  any  intention  either  of 
hampering  his  movements  with  the  care  of  the  va- 
lise, or  of  risking  the  valise's  contents  in  the  night's 
work  that  lay  ahead  of  him.  The  Hawk  was,  per- 


THE  HAWK  PACKS  HIS  VALISE        289 

haps,  possessed  of  a  certain  ironical  sense  of  hu- 
mour. Since  his  possession  of  the  loot  which  the 
valise  contained  was  due  in  a  more  or  less  intimate 
degree  to  the  railroad,  it  seemed  eminently  fitting 
that  it  should  be  restored  to  the  railroad  for  safe- 
keeping temporarily.  The  Hawk,  as  he  entered 
the  station,  nonchalantly  exchanged  his  valise  for  a 
parcel-room  check,  paid  down  the  dime  for  the  ser- 
vice to  be  rendered,  and  passed  on  into  the  general 
waiting  room. 

He  glanced  at  the  news-counter  on  his  way  through 
to  the  platform.  Its  full  complement  of  two  attend- 
ants were  present  now;  but,  contrary  to  all  prece- 
dent, it  being  an  all-night  stand,  obvious  prepara- 
tions for  closing  it  for  the  night  were  in  progress — 
the  two  men  were  engaged  in  removing  the  maga- 
zines, newspapers,  and  various  small  wares  from 
the  outside  ledge  of  the  counter,  and  in  pulling  down 
the  large  sliding  windows  that  enclosed  the  place. 
The  Hawk's  dark  eyes  flashed  a  gleam  of  grim  ap- 
preciation. It  was  then  literally  a  mobilisation  of 
the  Wire  Devils  to  the  last  man  to-night!  A  half 
million  in  gold — was  a  half  million  in  gold ! 

The  Hawk  bought  a  mileage  book  in  lieu  of  a 
ticket  to  any  specific  destination,  both  because  his  im- 
mediate destination  was  peculiarly  his  own  private 
concern,  and  because  in  the  very  near  future  he  ex- 
pected to  put  a  considerable  quantity  of  mileage  to 
excellent  use.  He  strolled  out  to  the  platform,  and 
along  to  the  east  end  of  the  station. 

Here,  quite  unobtrusively,  he  awaited  the  arrival 


290  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

of  No.  1 8.  The  platform  was  fairly  well  crowded 
— but  not  unusually  so,  or  rather,  perhaps,  not  no- 
ticeably so.  A  half  dozen,  or  even  a  dozen,  extra 
men  circulating  amongst  the  ordinary  press  of  traf- 
fic would  hardly  be  expected  to  make  any  appreciable 
difference.  The  Hawk,  back  under  the  shadows  of 
the  building,  surveyed  the  lighted  stretch  of  platform 
narrowly.  They  were  there,  the  Wire  Devils'  re- 
serve, he  knew;  but  he  recognised  none  of  them. 
He  smiled  a  little  whimsically.  His  acquaintanceship 
with  the  gang  so  far  had  been  with  its  more  promi- 
nent members,  as  it  were,  and  these,  as  likewise  Mac- 
Vightie's  posse,  had  already  boarded  the  train  far 
west  of  Selkirk — that  each  might  not  excite  the 
other's  suspicion!  Nor  was  MacVightie  himself  in 
evidence.  Not  that  this  surprised  the  Hawk!  He 
was  interested,  that  was  all.  It  was  simply  a  ques- 
tion of  whether  MacVightie  had  elected  to  stay  with 
the  gold,  or  had  gone  on  with  the  first  posse  on  the 
Limited  on  the  assumption  that  the  Limited  was 
the  more  likely  to  be  attacked.  It  made  little  dif- 
ference, of  course,  as  far  as  he,  the  Hawk,  was 
concerned,  whether  it  was  MacVightie  or  some  one 
else  who  was  in  command  of  the  posse — his  own 
plans  would  in  no  way  be  affected  on  that  account. 
There  was  a  stir  along  the  platform.  Up  the 
yard,  past  the  twinkling  switch  lights  on  the  spurs, 
the  glare  of  a  headlight  flashed  into  sight  around 
the  bend.  Came  the  roar  and  rumble  of  a  heavy 
train,  and  a  moment  later  No.  18,  its  big  mogul 
panting  like  a  thing  of  life  from  a  breathless  run,  its 


THE  HAWK  PACKS  HIS  VALISE        291 

long  string  of  coaches  behind  it,  rolled  into  the  sta- 
tion. 

The  Hawk  did  not  stir.  By  coincidence,  perhaps, 
the  baggage  car  had  come  to  a  stop  directly  oppo- 
site the  position  he  had  chosen.  The  rearmost  slid- 
ing door  of  the  car  was  slammed  back,  and  the  bag- 
gageman, a  powerfully  built,  muscular  fellow  of 
perhaps  thirty,  appeared  in  the  doorway.  The 
Hawk,  from  his  place  of  vantage,  eyed  th.  other 
appraisingly,  and  then  his  glance  travelled  on  into 
the  interior  of  the  car — what  he  could  see  of  it. 
What  he  saw  was  a  mass  of  trunks,  some  of  which 
the  man  now  unloaded  on  the  waiting  trucks,  and 
in  turn  piled  others,  as  they  were  heaved  up  to  him 
from  the  platform,  into  the  formers'  places.  The 
Hawk  nodded  his  head  shortly.  True,  the  forward 
door  of  the  car  had  not  been  opened,  but  MacVigh- 
tie  had  done  his  work  well.  There  was  no  hint  of 
concealment,  the  baggage  car  of  No.  18  was  as 
frankly  innocent  in  appearance  on  its  run  tonight  as 
it  had  ever  been. 

The  train  was  starting  into  motion  again  when 
the  Hawk  finally  moved.  He  crossed  the  platform, 
and  swung  himself  on  the  forward  steps  of  the 
smoker,  that  was  immediately  behind  the  baggage 
car.  His  slouch  hat  pulled  a  little  over  his  eyes,  he 
opened  the  door,  stepped  into  the  car,  sauntered 
down  the  aisle,  and  out  of  the  rear  door  to  the  vesti- 
buled  platform  of  the  first-class  day  coach  behind. 
But  here,  the  Hawk  paused  a  moment,  and  his  face, 
impassive  before,  was  stamped  now  with  a  twisted 


292  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

smile.  His  reconnaissance  of  the  train  so  far  had 
proved  fruitful.  The  four  men  in  the  forward 
double  seat  of  the  smoker,  a  lap  board  across  their 
knees,  and  apparently  engrossed  in  their  card  game, 
were  the  Butcher,  Whitie  Jim,  the  Cricket  and  the 
Bantam!  And  further  down  the  aisle,  unwittingly 
rubbing  shoulders  quite  probably  with  some  of  Mac- 
Viglitie's  men,  Parson  Joe  occupied  a  seat,  and  the 
keen,  pale,  thin  face  of  Kirschell  peered  out  from  an- 
other. 

"Yes,  they're  all  here,"  decided  the  Hawk,  his 
voice  drowned  in  the  rattle  of  the  train.  "Counting 
those  who  got  on  at  Selkirk,  they're  all  here  to  the 
last  man — except  the  Ladybird  and  his  wheel  chair  1" 

The  Hawk  moved  forward,  reached  out  for  the 
handle  of  the  day  coach  door — and  sucked  in  his 
breath,  as  he  drew  sharply  back  again.  Through 
the  glass  panel  he  had  caught  sight  of  two  men  he 
had  not  expected  to  see.  Sitting  together  on  the 
right-hand  side  about  a  quarter  of  the  way  down  the 
aisle  were  MacVightie  and  Lanson.  The  Hawk 
frowned.  He  had  waited  until  the  train  was  in  mo- 
tion, and  he  had  not  seen  them  get  on;  and  they,  as 
witness  that  little  conference  in  the  roundhouse  of  a 
while  back,  had  not  been  amongst  those  who  had 
boarded  the  train  west  of  Selkirk.  And  then  the 
frown  gave  place  to  a  sort  of  self-commiserating 
expression.  Where  were  his  wits  to-night!  It  was 
simple  enough!  They  had  boarded  the  car  from 
the  yard  side  of  the  train,  and  not  from  the  plat- 
form, of  course  I 


THE  HAWK  PACKS  HIS  VALISE        293 

Well,  that  put  an  end  to  any  further  reconnais- 
sance through  the  train!  In  one  sense  it  was  not 
altogether  true  that  it  made  no  difference  whether 
MacVightie  was  aboard  or  not.  He  and  MacVigh- 
tie  were  not  altogether  strangers.  They  had  met 
once  in  his,  the  Hawk's,  room,  and  on  that  occasion, 
the  night,  to  be  precise,  he  had  cleaned  out  the  pay- 
master's safe  of  that  ten  thousand  dollars,  Mac- 
Vightie had  been  in  a  decidedly  suspicious  frame 
of  mind.  MacVightie,  it  was  quite  certain,  had  not 
forgotten  that  night;  nor,  it  was  quite  equally  safe 
to  assume,  had  MacVightie  forgotten  his,  the 
Hawk's  face — and  at  that  exact  moment  the  Hawk 
had  no  desire  that  MacVightie  should  recognise  him 
again  I 

The  Hawk  turned,  re-entered  the  smoker,  found 
the  always  unpopular  crosswise  seat  behind  the  door 
vacant,  and  appropriated  it.  His  eyes  straying  for- 
ward over  the  car  located  two  more  acquaintances  in 
the  person  of  Crusty  Kline  and  French  Pete,  and 
came  back  to  fix  musingly  on  the  worn  nickel  faucet 
of  the  water-cooler.  No.  i8's  first  stop  was  at 
Barne's  Junction,  fifteen  miles  out  from  Selkirk,  and 
some  five  miles  this  side  of  Conmore;  the  next  stop 
was  Lorraine,  and  Lorraine  was  on  the  other  side — 
in  fact  a  good  many  miles  on  the  other  side — of 
Echo  Rock  and  the  Willow  Creek  bridge.  The  de- 
duction was  obvious;  and  the  Hawk's  destination,  in 
so  far  as  his  occupancy  of  a  seat  in  the  smoker  was 
concerned,  was  therefore  quite  plainly — the  Junction. 

"Three  miles  east  of  Echo  Rock,"  repeated  the 


294  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

Hawk  to  himself.  "No,  I  don't  think  so  I  This  is 
where  the  Ladybird  has  another  guess!  Maybe  I 
couldn't  get  away  with  a  half  million — but  maybe 
I'm  not  the  only  one !  There's  one  or  two  guys  in 
this  car  that  haven't  got  the  high-sign  to  my  lodge ! 
It  seems  to  me  I  promised  the  Butcher  something 
the  night  he  tried  to  shoot  me  through  his  pocket, 
and  it  seems  as  though  I  promised  Parson  Joe  some- 
thing too — yes,  it  seems  to  me  I  didl" 


—  XIX  — 

BIRDS   OF   A   FEATHER 

IT  took  twenty  minutes  for  the  run  to  the  Junc- 
tion.   And  at  the  Junction,  as  far  as  the  Hawk 
could  tell,  since,  yielding  to  what  had  become 
a  sort  of  habit  with  him,  he  descended  to  the 
ground  on  the  opposite  side  from  the  station,  he  was 
the  only  passenger  for  that  stop.    It  was  dark  here ; 
strangely  silent,  and  strangely  lonely.     Barne's  Junc- 
tion owed  its  existence  neither  to  a  town  site,  nor  to 
commercial  importance — it  existed  simply  as  a  junc- 
tion,  and   for  purely  railroad  operating  purposes 
only.     It  was,  in  fact,  the  other  extreme  as  com- 
pared to  Selkirk  with  its  lighted  and  busy  platform, 
its  extensive  yard,  and  its  ubiquitous  and,  perhaps, 
too  inquisitive  yardmen! 

The  Hawk  dropped  on  all  fours  and  began  to 
creep  along  the  side  of  the  smoker  toward  the  for- 
ward end  of  the  train,  his  eyes  strained  warily 
through  the  darkness  against  the  possibility  of  one 
or  other  of  the  engine  crew  descending  from  the  cab. 
He  passed  the  smoker  and  kept  on  along  the  length 
of  the  baggage  car,  still  crawling,  moving  without  a 
sound.  When  he  rose  from  his  knees  finally,  he  was 
crouched  down  in  between  the  tender  and  the  for- 

295 


296  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

ward  end  of  the  bagage  car;  and  a  moment  later,  as 
the  train  jerked  forward  into  motion,  he  was 
crouched  again — this  time  on  the  end  beam  of  the 
baggage  car  which,  in  lieu  of  platform,  served  as 
a  sort  of  wide  threshold  for  the  door. 

The  train  was  beginning  to  gain  momentum  now, 
and  against  the  jolt  and  swing  of  the  increasing 
speed  the  Hawk  steadied  himself  by  clinging  with 
one  hand  to  the  iron  handrail  at  the  side  of  the  door 
— with  the  other  hand  he  tried  the  door  cautiously, 
and  found  it  locked. 

From  the  pocket  in  the  back  lining  of  his  coat  he 
produced  his  mask,  fingered  it  speculatively  for  an 
instant,  then  slipped  it  over  his  face.  True,  this 
was  to  be  his  last  venture  in  the  Wire  Devils'  pre- 
serves, but  he  had  always  worn  a  mask,  and — there 
came  a  twisted  grin — they  perhaps  would  not  recog- 
nise him  without  it.  And  it  was  quite  necessary  that 
they  should  recognise  the  Hawk — if  he  was  to  keep 
that  promise  to  the  Butcher!  It  might  be  a  fare- 
well, as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  but  he  intended 
that  it  should  be  a  memorable  one,  and  that  no 
doubt  should  be  permitted  to  linger  in  their  minds 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  parting  guest  they  had  so 
lavishly,  if  ungraciously,  entertained! 

From  the  same  pocket  came  his  skeleton  keys. 
The  Hawk  now  felt  tentatively  with  his  finger  over 
the  keyhole,  nodded  his  head  briskly,  and  from  the 
bunch  of  keys,  still  by  the  sense  of  touch,  selected 
one  without  hesitation.  The  Hawk,  however,  for  the 
moment,  made  no  effort  to  open  the  door.  The  rush 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  297 

of  the  wind  was  in  his  face  now;  like  some  black, 
monstrous,  uncanny  wall  confronting  him,  the  tender 
clashed  and  clattered,  and  swayed  in  dizzy  lurches 
before  his  eyes;  while  heavenward  the  sky  was  tinged 
with  a  deep  reu  glow,  and  the  cab  was  ablaze  with 
light  from  the  wide-flung  fire-box  door,  and  the 
top  of  the  baggage  car  door,  and  the  individual  par- 
ticles of  coal  on  the  top  of  the  tender's  heap  stood 
out  in  sharp  relief  against  the  background  of  the 
night. 

And  then  the  darkness  fell  again. 

The  Hawk's  hand  shot  forward  to  the  keyhole, 
lingered  there  an  instant,  as  he  crouched  again  sway- 
ing with  the  lurch  of  the  train,  then  the  skeleton 
keys  were  returned  to  the  pocket  in  the  back  lining 
of  his  coat — and  the  Hawk  was  in  action.  In  a 
flash  he  had  opened  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him,  and,  with  his  back  against  it,  his  automatic 
flung  significantly  forward  in  his  hand,  he  stood 
staring  down  the  length  of  the  car. 

There  was  a  hoarse,  startled  yell,  that  was  lost 
in  the  roar  of  the  flying  train,  and  the  baggageman, 
from  his  chair  at  one  side  of  the  car  and  in  front 
of  a  shelf-like  desk  topped  with  a  rack  of  pigeon- 
holes, leaped  to  his  feet. 

"Sit  down  !"  invited  the  Hawk  coldly. 

The  man  hesitated,  but  the  next  instant  dropped 
back  into  his  chaii,  as  the  Hawk  moved  suddenly 
forward  to  his  side. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  demanded  sullenly. 

"This — to  begin  with!"     The  Hawk's  voice  was 


298  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

an  insolent  drawl  now,  as  his  deft  fingers,  like  a 
streak  of  lightning,  were  into  the  other's  pocket  and 
out  again  with  the  man's  revolver.  "How  long  since 
they've  been  arming  the  baggagemen  on  this  road? 
You  needn't  answer — I'm  only  talking  to  myself. 
Those  are  the  cases  up  there  by  the  forward  door, 
aren't  they?  And  the  big  one's  got  the  green  boys — 
eh?"  He  was  backing  away  from  the  man  now. 
"Don't  move,  my  bucko — understand?  That  chair 
you're  sitting  in  is  the  only  health  resort  in  this  car!" 

The  man's  hands  clenched,  as  his  eyes  narrowed 
on  the  Hawk. 

"You  damned  thief !"  he  rasped  out.    "I — I'd  like 

.      M 

"Quite  so!"  said  the  Hawk  softly.  "I  know  how 
you  feel  about  it,  and  if  it  helps  any  to  get  it  off 
your  chest,  go  to  it!  Nobody'll  hear  you  but  me, 
and  I'll  try  and  make  the  best  of  it!" 

Piled  along  the  side  of  the  car  from  the  doorway 
were  a  number  of  solidly  made,  heavy-looking  cases 
that  obviously  contained  the  gold  shipment.  In 
front  of  these,  between  them  and  where  the  bag- 
gageman sat,  and  acting  too  perhaps  as  a  screen 
when  the  rear  sliding  door  was  open,  as,  for  in- 
stance, it  had  been  at  Selkirk,  was  a  large,  innocent- 
appearing,  flimsily-constructed  packing  case.  The 
Hawk,  beside  this  now,  moved  it  slightly.  It  was 
very  light,  so  light  as  to  warrant  the  presumption 
that  it  might  even  be  empty. 

The  baggageman  had  relapsed  into  a  scowling 
silence,  his  eyes  still  on  the  Hawk.  The  Hawk  took 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  299 

his  steel  jimmy  from  his  pocket,  shifted  his  automat- 
ic to  his  left  hand,  and  inserted  the  jimmy  under  the 
cover  of  the  case.  There  was  a  rip  and  tear  of  rend- 
ing wood;  the  operation  was  twice  repeated — and 
the  Hawk  threw  the  shattered  cover  on  the  floor. 
He  glanced  inside.  At  the  bottom  of  the  case  lay 
a  large  paper  package,  strongly  tied,  and  heavily 
sealed  with  red  wax. 

Under  his  mask,  the  Hawk's  lips  parted  in  a 
smile,  as,  his  eyes  on  the  baggageman  again,  he 
noted  that  the  other  was  watching  his  every  move- 
ment now  with  a  sort  of  intense  expectancy.  The 
Hawk,  however,  made  no  effort  to  reach  down  into 
the  four-foot  depth  of  the  packing  case;  he  canted 
the  box  over,  and  picked  up  the  package  from  the 
floor  of  the  car.  With  the  point  of  his  jimmy  he  tore 
a  rent  in  the  paper  wrapper — and  his  smile  broad- 
ened. 

"I  apologise,"  said  the  Hawk,  with  an  engaging 
nod  to  the  sullen  figure  in  the  chair.  "They're  not 
green  boys — they're  yellow  backs!" 

"You  damned  thief!"  said  the  man,  in  a  choked 
voice. 

The  roar  and  sway  of  the  train  seemed  suddenly 
to  increase,  as  the  wheel  trucks,  jolting  and  beating 
at  a  siding  switch,  set  up  a  sort  of  infernal  tattoo. 
They  were  passing  the  first  station  after  the  Junc- 
tion— Conmore. 

The  smile  left  the  Hawk's  face.  A  little  further 
along,  and  they  would  stop  the  train.  There  came 
a  sort  of  dare-devil  set  to  the  Hawk's  clamped  jaws. 


800  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

He  was  taking  chances,  but  he  had  already  weighed 
those  chances  well.  The  Wire  Devils,  the  Butcher 
and  his  crowd,  would  be  on  the  alert;  but  equally  so 
would  be  MacVightie — and  the  posse  that  must  far 
outnumber  the  gang.  And  there  was  that  promise 
to  the  Butcher!  With  their  plans  awry,  and  taken 
by  surprise,  instead  of  profiting  by  surprise  them- 
selves, their  chances,  rather  than  of  securing  a  half 
million  in  gold,  were  most  excellent  of  securing  quite 
as  generous  a  reward,  though  of  another  nature — at 
the  hands  of  MacVightie  I 

"I'm  going  to  get  off  here,"  said  the  Hawk  coolly 
to  the  figure  in  the  chair.  "And  the  only  way  to 
get  off  without  cracking  my  bean  is  to  let  that  guy 
there  in  the  engine  know  that  he's  infringing  the 
speed  laws!  You  remember  what  I  told  you — the 
only  healthy  place  in  this  car  for  you  is  where  you're 
sitting  now.  Something  may  crack  loose  around 
here — keep  out  of  the  wet!" 

The  Hawk  reached  above  his  head  for  the  bell 
cord,  and  pulled  it  sharply.  The  engine  crew,  too, 
were  evidently  on  the  alert!  The  shrill  blast  of 
the  whistle  answered  the  signal  instantly.  There 
was  a  sudden  jerk  that  almost  threw  the  Hawk  from 
his  feet,  the  pound  and  slam  of  buffer  plates,  and 
the  vicious  shriek  of  the  "air."  The  Hawk  re- 
covered himself,  and,  cool  and  quick  in  every  move- 
ment now,  thrust  his  jimmy  into  his  pocket  to  free 
his  hands,  flung  the  package  of  banknotes  up  the 
aisle  made  by  trunks  and  boxes  behind  him,  and  be- 
gan to  retreat  toward  the  forward  door,  pulling  the 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  301 

empty  case  along  as  a  shield  between  himself  and 
the  other  end  of  the  car. 

The  rear  door  of  the  car  smashed  inward.  The 
Hawk  caught  a  blurred  glimpse  of  faces  and  forms 
surging  through  the  doorway,  and  streaming  across 
the  platform  from  the  smoker  behind — and,  in  the 
lead,  the  Butcher's  crafty  face,  with  its  little  black,, 
restless,  ferret  eyes  fixed  down  the  trunk-made  aisle 
of  the  car  on  him!" 

"The  Hawk!" — it  came  in  a  scream  of  abandoned 
fury  from  the  Butcher — then  a  headlong  rush — a 
flash,  the  roar  of  the  report,  as  the  Butcher  fired — 
another,  as  the  Hawk's  automatic  answered — and 
the  spat  of  a  bullet  splitting  the  panel  of  the  for- 
ward door. 

The  Hawk,  stooped  low  behind  the  packing  case 
now,  still  edged  backward  toward  the  door,  still 
dragging  the  case  after  him.  A  smile  that  was 
deadly  grim  and  far  removed  from  mirth  curved  his 
lips  downward  in  hard,  merciless  lines.  He  had,  at 
least,  attained  his  object !  There  was  no  doubt  con- 
cerning their  recognition  of  him  as  the  Hawk !  Well, 
he  had  weighed  the  chances.  They  would  be  on 
him  now,  but  only  one  at  a  time ;  there  was  not  room 
for  more,  with  the  packing  case  blocking  the  way — 
and  it  would  be  the  Butcher  first.  After  that — well, 
after  that,  he  counted  on  MacVightie  creating  a  di- 
version from  the  rear,  and 

The  Butcher  had  flung  himself  against  the  pack- 
ing case.  It  toppled  to  one  side,  and  the  Hawk, 
like  a  crouched  tiger,  sprang  and  closed,  making  of 


302  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  Butcher's  body,  as  a  substitute  for  the  packing 
case  now,  a  shield  from  the  onrush  behind.  There 
was  a  furious  oath  from  the  Butcher;  a  lurch,  a 
stagger,  as  the  train  jerked  and  jerked  again — and 
both  men,  gripped  and  locked  together,  went  to 
the  floor. 

For  an  instant  they  rolled  over  and  over,  the 
Butcher  snarling  like  a  mad  beast,  wrenching  and 
twisting  for  an  opening  at  the  Hawk's  throat — and 
then  suddenly  the  car  was  in  an  inferno.  A  voice, 
MacVightie's,  rang  out  sternly  from  the  rear  door. 
It  was  echoed  by  a  yell  from  one  of  the  Hawk's 
companions,  then  a  shot,  another,  a  fusillade  of 
them — and  then  a  voice  above  the  uproar: 

"It's  MacVightie,  an'  de  bulls!" 

There  was  a  scurrying  of  feet,  a  stampede  for 
cover  behind  trunks  and  boxes  by  the  Butcher's 
men — and  the  Butcher's  grip  was  tense  upon  the 
Hawk. 

"Cut  it  out!"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "My  God, 
we're  trapped — the  lot  of  us!  Make  a  break  for 
the  door — get  me  ?  Crawl — that's  the  only  chance !" 

Blue  eddies  of  smoke  hung  in  queer,  wavering, 
hesitant  suspension  up  and  down  the  length  of  the 
car;  the  air  was  full  of  the  acrid  smell  of  powder. 
The  firing  broke  out  again.  The  Hawk  released 
his  hold. 

"All  right!"  he  panted.     "I'm  with  you!" 

The  Butcher  was  right,  it  was  the  only  chance — 
and  a  chance  that  was  theirs  alone,  for,  as  they  lay 
on  the  flo^r,  the  packing  case  hid  them,  and  it  was 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  303 

barely  two  yards  to  the  door.  The  train  was  almost 
at  a  standstill  now.  MacVightie's  men  had  gained 
an  entrance  and  a  position  for  themselves  behind  the 
trunks  at  the  lower  end,  firing  as  they  crept  forward, 
while  back  on  the  smoker's  platform,  through  the 
baggage  car's  open  door,  others  commanded  the 
sweep  down  the  center  of  the  car. 

The  Hawk  snatched  at  the  package  of  banknotes, 
snuggled  it  under  his  coat,  and,  with  the  Butcher 
beside  him,  began  to  wriggle  toward  the  door. 

MacVightie's  voice  rang  out  again  from  the  rear 
of  the  car: 

"Marston,  take  ten  men,  and  surround  the  carl 

And "  His  voice  rose  suddenly  in  a  bull-like 

roar.  "The  forward  door,  there — two  of  them! 
Watch  which  w<  >  thry  jump — not  a  man  of  them 
gets  away  to-nignt!  Quick!" 

The  Hawk  'i-d  wrenched  the  door  open,  and, 
with  the  Butcher  oehind  him,  flung  himself  out,  and 
leaped  to  the  ground.  With  the  Hawk  leading, 
running  like  hares,  the  two  men  dashed  down  the 
embankment,  and  hurled  themselves  over  the  barbed- 
wire  fence  that  enclosed  the  right  of  way.  Shouts, 
the  crackle  of  shots,  echoed  from  behind  them — 
the  short,  vicious  tongue-flames  of  the  revolvers, 
a  myriad  of  them,  it  seemed,  stabbed  yellow  through 
the  blackness. 

The  Hawk  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder.  He 
could  just  make  out  perhaps  a  half  dozen  dark  forms 
in  pursuit — and  perhaps  fifty  yards  away.  The  dark- 
ness and  the  distance  made  the  shooting  at  best  an- 


804  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

certain.  It  was  only  a  chance  shot  that  would  get 
either  the  Butcher  or  himself,  and  ahead,  unless  he 
was  mistaken,  for  the  train  must  have  come  to  a 
stop  at  just  about  that  distance  from  Conmore,  must 
be  the  wooded  tract  of  land  that  surrounded  the  old 
farmhouse.  Yes — there  it  was !  The  old  dare-devil 
set  clamped  his  jaws  again.  Yes,  and  so  was  the 
Ladybird — there !  Well,  it  was  obvious  enough  that 
there  was  no  other  cover !  He  glanced  at  the  Butch- 
er's face  that  he  could  just  discern  in  the  dark- 
ness. The  Butcher  might  decide  against  it,  but  the 
Butcher  evidently  had  not  recognised  his  surround- 
ings. The  man's  lips  were  working,  and  he  was 
cursing  in  abandon  as  he  ran. 

The  Hawk  spoke  in  short,  gasping  breaths : 

"There's  some  trees  over  t^re  -to  the  right — a 
little — make  for  them — cover!" 

The  Butcher  swerved  automatically  in  the  direc- 
tion indicated. 

"Curse  you!"  he  wheezed  out.  "This  is  all  your 
infernal,  nosey  work!  What  did  you  want  to  butt 
in  for  to-night — you  fool — you  couldn't  have  got 
that  gold,  anyway!" 

"You  close  your  face !"  snapped  back  the  Hawk. 
"I'm  running  my  own  show!  There  was  a  little 
cash — forty  thousand  bucks  along  with  that  gold, 
that  maybe  you  didn't  know  about.  That's  what  I 
was  after — see?  And  that's  what  I  got — see?" 

"Yes" — the  Butcher's  voice  broke  in  infuriated 
passion — "yes,  and  you  got  them  all  pinched,  every 
last  one  of  them — blast  you !  I " 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  805 

"You  save  your  breath,  and  put  it  into  running," 
retorted  the  Hawk  savagely,  "or  else  maybe  you'll 
get  pinched  yourself!  It's  their  lookout!  I  don't 
owe  any  of  you  any  candy,  do  I !" 

MacVightie  himself  was  evidently  one  of  those 
in  pursuit  behind,  for  again  the  Hawk  recognised 
the  other's  voice : 

"Spread  out  there  to  the  right!  And  try  and 
shoot  a  little  straighter — before  they  get  into  that 
belt  of  trees!" 

A  renewed  outburst  of  firing  came  in  response — 
and  the  Hawk  measured  grimly  the  few  yards  that 
still  separated  him  from  the  trees,  as  a  bullet,  drum- 
ming the  air  venomously,  seemed  to  miss  his  cheek 
by  but  the  fraction  of  an  inch.  MacVightie's  pres- 
ence was  evidence  that  the  detective  was  so  well 
satisfied  that  the  gang  penned  up  in  the  car  could 
not  escape,  that  he  obviously  counted  his  temporary 
absence  from  the  scene  well  warranted  if  thereby 
the  clean-up  were  made  complete  in  the  capture  of 

The  Hawk's  mental  soliloquy  came  to  an 

abrupt  end.  There  was  a  low  cry  from  the  Butcher, 
and  the  man,  as  they  ran  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
lurched  against  him. 

"What's  wrong?"  flung  out  the  Hawk  sharply. 

"They  got  me !"  gasped  the  Butcher — and  lurched 
again.  "They  got  me — in  the  leg." 

The  Hawk  glanced  backward  again.  They  were 
still  those  fifty  yards  behind,  those  dark,  flitting,  on- 
coming forms,  those  vicious  yellow  stabs  of  flame  in 


306  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

the  blackness — it  had  been  a  dead  heat  so  far,  here 
to  the  fringe  of  the  trees. 

The  Butcher  stumbled.  The  Hawk  swung  his  free 
arm  around  the  other's  waist,  and  plunged  in 
amongst  the  trees.  It  was  slower  work  now,  desper- 
ately slow.  He  clutched  at  the  package  of  banknotes 
beneath  his  coat,  and  with  his  other  hand  tightened 
his  grip  upon  the  Butcher.  The  man  was  evidently 
badly  hit,  and  was  beginning  to  sag  limply.  Came 
the  thrashing  and  branches,  and  the  rush  of  feet  be- 
hind them.  The  fifty  yards  was  ten  now — the  Hawk, 
with  his  burden,  struggled  on — and  then  there  came 
a  cry  again  from  the  Butcher — they  had  gained  the 
edge  of  the  clearing,  and  the  old  farmhouse  and  its 
outbuildings  loomed  up  before  them. 

"It's — it's "  the  Butcher's  voice  choked  weakly. 

"I — I  know  where  we  are — my  God,  quick!  They'll 
search  the  house !  I  got  to  warn  him  now — quick  I" 

The  man,  as  though  under  3.  stimulant,  with  new 
strength,  had  sprung  forward  alone  into  the  clear, 
making  for  the  farmhouse  door.  It  was  only  a  few 
yards,  but  halfway  there  he  stumbled  again — and 
again  the  Hawk  pulled  him  to  his  feet. 

A  yell  went  up  behind  them.  MacVightie  and  his 
men,  too,  were  now  in  the  clearing,  and  the  ten 
yards'  lead  was  cut  to  five,  to  three — and  then  the 
door  before  them  was  flung  suddenly  open,  and  a 
voice  challenged  hoarsely  from  within: 

"Who's  there?     What's " 

The  Butcher  pitched  across  the  threshold,  drag- 
ging the  Hawk  down  with  him  in  his  fall. 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  307 

"The  door,  Jim — ouick — slam  it!"  screamed  the 
Butcher.  "We're  done — the  cellar!" 

The  Hawk  had  leaped  to  his  feet.  The  room 
was  dark,  unlighted,  but  from  across  it  came,  as 
there  had  come  that  other  night,  the  faint  glow 
from  the  open  door  of  the  cellarway.  The  Butcher 
had  staggered  up  again,  and  was  making  in  that  di- 
rection— and  then  the  Hawk,  too,  was  across  the 
room — but  the  next  instant,  turning  to  meet  the 
rush  from  without,  as  the  front  door,  evidently  be- 
fore the  man  whom  the  Butcher  had  addressed  as 
Jim  could  fasten  it,  burst  inward  and  crashed  against 
the  wall,  he  was  borne  backward,  and,  losing  his 
balance,  half  pitched,  half  rolled  down  the  cellar 
stairs. 

The  fall  must  have  stunned  him  for  a  moment. 
He  realised  that  as  he  struggled  to  his  feet — to  find 
himself  staring  into  the  muzzle  of  MacVightie's  re- 
volver, and  to  find  that  the  bulging  package  of  bank- 
notes was  gone  from  under  his  coat,  as,  too,  were  his 
automatic,  his  jimmy  and  the  baggageman's  revolver 
that  had  been  in  the  side  pockets  of  his  coat.  He 
raised  his  hand  dazedly  toward  his  eyes — and  Mac- 
Vightie,  reaching  out,  knocked  his  hand  away. 

"I'll  do  that  for  you — we  were  just  getting  around 
to  it!"  said  MacVightie  roughly — and  jerked  the 
Hawk's  mask  from  his  face.  And  then  MacVightie 
leaned  sharply  forward.  "O-ho !"  he  exclaimed 
grimly.  "So  it's  you — is  it?  I  guess  you  put  it  over 
me  the  night  that  ten  thousand  was  lifted  at  the  sta- 
tion— but  I've  got  you  nowl" 


308  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

The  Hawk  made  no  answer.  He  was  staring,  still 
in  an  apparently  dazed  way,  about  him.  The  cel- 
lar was  a  veritable  maze  of  work  benches  and  elab- 
orate equipment — for  counterfeiting  work.  A 
printing  press  stood  over  in  one  corner;  on  the 
benches,  plates  and  engravers'  tools  of  all  descrip- 
tions were  scattered  about;  and,  near  the  wall  by 
the  stairway,  he  made  out  a  telegraph  set.  But  the 
Hawk's  glance  did  not  linger  on  any  of  these  things 
— it  fastened  on  a  bent  and  twisted  form  that  craned 
its  neck  forward  from  a  rubber-tired  wheel 
chair;  on  a  livid  face,  out  of  which  the  coal-black 
eyes,  narrowed  to  slits,  smouldered  in  deadly  menace, 
and  from  whose  thin  lips,  that  scarcely  moved,  there 
poured  forth  now  a  torrent  of  hideous  blasphemy  in 
that  soft,  silken  voice  that  had  earned  the  Lady- 
bird his  name;  on  the  hand,  crooked  into  a  claw, 
that,  pushing  away  the  man  who  stood  guard  over 
him,  reached  out  toward  where  the  Butcher  lay 
upon  the  floor. 

"You  ape,  you  gnat,  you  brainless  pig!  And  you 
led  them  here — here — here!" 

"I  didn't  know  where  I  was  until  I  was  right  on 
the  house,"  mumbled  the  Butcher  miserably. 

UT »> 

"Shut  up — both  of  you!"  ordered  MacVightie 
gruffly.  "What  do  you  say,  Lanson?  Is  this  the 
Hawk?" 

The  Hawk  had  not  seen  the  superintendent,  and 
he  turned  now  quickly.  Lanson's  steel-grey  eyes 
were  boring  into  him  coldly. 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  309 

"Yes,"  said  Lanson  evenly,  "I  think  I  could  swear 
he  was  the  man  who  held  us  up  in  the  private  car 
the  other  night — but  it's  easily  proved.  If  he  is  the 
Hawk,  he  has  got  a  wound  in  his  right  side.  I  saw 
him  clap  his  hand  there  when  the  pistol  went  off  in 
his  fight  with  Meridan." 

"Well,  we'll  soon  see !"  snapped  MacVightie. 

The  Hawk  licked  his  lips. 

"You  needn't  look,"  he  said  morosely.  "It's 
there." 

"So  you  admit  it,  do  you?"  MacVightie's  smile 
was  unpleasant.  "Well,  then,  since  you  seem  to  be 
so  thick  with  that  pack  of  curs  back  there  in  the 
train,  perhaps  you'll  admit  to  a  hand  in  this  little 
counterfeiting  plant  as  well?" 

"No;  I  won't!"  said  the  Hawk  shortly.  "I  never 
had  anything  to  do  with  this!  I  don't  admit  any- 
thing of  the  kind!  Ask  him!" — the  Hawk  jerked 
his  hand  toward  the  Ladybird. 

"Oh,  all  right!"  MacVightie  smiled  unpleasantly 
again.  "Let  it  go  at  that  for  now,  if  you  like  it 
that  way.  It  doesn't  much  matter.  You're  birds  of 
a  feather,  anyway,  and  there's  enough  on  all  of  you 
to  go  around!"  He  reached  behind  him,  and  picked 
up  the  package  of  banknotes  from  where  he  had 
evidently  laid  it  on  the  nearest  bench.  "How  did 
you  know  this  was  on  the  train,  and  how  did  you 
know  where  it  was  in  the  car — and  tell  the  truth 
about  it!" 

"I  heard  you  and  Mr.  Lanson  talking  about  it  to- 
night," said  the  Hawk. 


310  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

"Where?" 

"In  the  roundhouse.  I  was  outside  the  window. 
And" — the  Hawk's  voice  thinned  in  a  sudden  snarl 
— "you  go  to  the  devil  with  your  questions  1" 

The  Ladybird  was  craned  forward  again  in  the 
wheel  chair  listening  intently,  he  sank  back  now 
and  scowled  murderously  at  the  Hawk.  MacVightie 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  handed  the  package  to  one 
of  his  three  men  who  were  with  him  in  the  cellar, 
and  drew  a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  his  pocket. 

"Get  that  cash  down  to  the  train,  and  put  it  back 
with  the  gold  where  it  will  be  under  guard,  Mac- 
Gregor!"  he  ordered  brusquely.  "And  you  two 
carry  this  fellow" — he  rattled  his  handcuffs  in  the 
Butcher's  direction — "down  there,  too.  Tell  Mar- 
ston  to  let  you  have  three  or  four  more  men.  The 
chap  that  Williams  has  got  upstairs  there  will  have 
to  be  carried,  too,  I  guess;  and  our  friend  here,  in 
the  invalid  buggy,  with  the  thanksgiving  expression 
on  his  face,  will  have  to  have  somebody  to  push  him 
along  over  the  ruts.  Yes,  and  I'll  want  a  couple  to 
put  in  the  night  here — tell  Marston  to  make  it  four. 
And  now,  beat  it!  You  run  ahead,  MacGregor,  and 
get  back  as  soon  as  you  can — we  don't  want  to  tie  up 
the  traffic  all  night!" 

The  two  men  picked  up  the  Butcher,  and,  preceded 
by  their  companion  with  the  package  of  banknotes, 
went  up  the  stairs.  MacVightie  caught  the  Hawk's 
arm  roughly,  snapped  one  link  of  the  steel  cuffs 
over  the  Hawk's  right  wrist,  and  yanked  the  Hawk 
ungently  over  to  a  position  beside  the  wheel  chair. 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  811 

He  snapped  the  other  link  over  the  Ladybird's  left 
wrist,  and  smiled  menacingly. 

"I  guess  there's  dead  weight  enough  there  to 
anchor  you  for  a  few  minutes  while  I  take  a  look 
around  here!"  he  said  curtly — and  turned  to  Lan- 
son. 

The  Hawk  was  licking  at  his  lips  again.  Upstairs, 
the  tramp  of  feet  was  dying  away.  There  would  be 
no  one  there  now  but  the  other  member  of  the  gang 
who,  it  seemed,  had  been  hurt  when  the  house  was 
rushed,  and  the  one  man  who  was  guarding  the  pris- 
oner. The  Ladybird's  cultured  voice  at  the  Hawk's 
side  poured  out  an  uninterrupted  stream  of  aban- 
doned oaths  that  were  like  a  shudder  in  the  non- 
chalant, conversational  tones  in  which  they  fell  from 
the  twitching  lips.  MacVightie  and  Lanson  were 
moving  here  and  there  about  the  place.  Snatches 
of  their  conversation  reached  the  Hawk: 

".  .  .  Well,  I  reckon  I  called  the  turn,  all  right, 
when  I  said  it  was  the  same  crowd  that  was  turning 
out  the  phony  stuff,  eh?  ...  Yes,  the  telegraph  set. 
.  .  .  Can't  trace  the  wires  until  daylight,  of  course. 
.  .  .  Sure,  a  clean-up.  .  .  ." 

The  Hawk's  eyes  travelled  furtively  around  the 
cellar.  They  rested  hungrily  on  a  spot  in  front  of 
him,  where,  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  but  partially 
hidden  by  one  of  the  workbenches,  was  the  bolted 
trapdoor  of  the  underground  passage  that  led  out  to 
the  wagon  shed.  He  circled  his  lips  with  his  tongue 
again,  and  furtively  again,  his  glance  travelled  on — 
to  the  door  at  the  head  of  the  cellar  stairs  that  had 


312  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

a  massive  bolt,  and  that,  evidently  swinging  back 
of  its  own  accord  after  the  men  had  passed  through, 
now  hung  just  ajar — to  a  long,  narrow  window,  most 
tantalising  of  all  because  it  was  wide  open,  that  was 
shoulder  high,  just  above  the  stonework  of  the  cel- 
lar and  evidently  on  a  level  with  the  ground  outside. 

And  then  suddenly  the  Hawk's  lids  drooped — to 
hide  a  quick  flash  and  gleam  that  lighted  the  dark 
eyes.  MacVightie  had  stooped,  and  throwing  back 
the  bolt,  had  lifted  up  the  trapdoor. 

"Hello!"  he  ejaculated.  "What's  this?  Here, 
Lanson!  It  looks  like  a  passage  of  some  sort." 
He  was  leaning  down  into  the  opening.  "Yes,  so 
help  me,  that's  what  it  is!"  He  lowered  himself 
hurriedly  through  the  trapdoor,  and  his  voice  came 
back  muffled  into  the  cellar.  "Come  down  here  a 
minute,  Lanson;  they  certainly  had  things  worked 
out  to  a  fine  point!" 

Lanson's  back,  as,  following  MacVightie,  he  low- 
ered himself  through  the  opening,  was  turned  to  the 
Hawk — and  in  a  flash  the  Hawk's  free  hand  had 
swept  behind  him  under  his  coat  to  the  concealed 
pocket  in  the  back  lining,  and  his  eyes  were  thrust 
within  an  inch  of  the  Ladybird's  as  he  lowered  his 
head. 

"You  understand?" — the  Hawk's  lips  did  not 
move,  he  was  breathing  his  words,  while  a  skeleton 
key  worked  swiftly  at  the  handcuff  on  his  wrist — 
"you  understand?  It's  you  or  me!  You  make  a 
sound  to  queer  me,  and  I'll  get  you — first!" 

The  livid  face  was  contorted,  working  with  im- 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER  313 

potent  fury,  but,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  that  it 
had  ever  been  there,  there  was  fear  in  the  Lady- 
bird's burning  eyes.  The  Hawk's  hand  was  free 
now.  Lanson's  shoulders  were  just  disappearing 
through  the  opening,  and  with  a  lightning  spring 
the  Hawk  reached  the  trapdoor,  swung  it  down, 
bolted  it,  and,  running  without  a  sound,  gained  the 
head  of  the  cellar  stairs,  pulled  the  door  gently 
shut,  slid  the  bolt  silently  into  place — and  the  next 
moment  the  Hawk,  returning,  darted  to  the  window, 
swung  himself  up  to  the  ledge,  and  vanished. 


XX  — 


"CONFIDENTIAL"  CORRESPONDENCE 


1 


days  later  MacVightie  received  a  let- 
ter that  had  been  posted  the  day  before 
from  a  city  quite  a  number  of  miles 
nearer  the  East  than  Selkirk  was.  In 
the  left-hand,  lower  corner  of  the  envelope,  heav- 
ily underscored,  was  the  word:  "Confidential."  What 
MacVightie  read,  when  he  opened  the  letter,  was 
this: 

"Dear  Mr.  MacVightie: — 

"I  feel  that  you  are  entitled  to  an  explana- 
tion— I  will  not  call  it  an  apology,  for  I  am 
sure  you  will  recognise  with  me  the  unavoidable 
nature  of  the  circumstances  existing  at  the  time 
— of  my  somewhat  informal  leave-taking  of  you 
two  evenings  ago;  and  I  am  afraid  that  my  ac- 
tions on  that  occasion  have  not  enhanced  your 
opinion  of — the  Hawk.  I  shall  try  and  redeem 
myself.  You  have,  I  make  no  doubt,  already 
searched  that  room  where  I  first  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  making  your  acquaintance — and  have 
found  nothing.  Let  me  begin,  then,  by  saying 
that  the  diamond  necklace  belonging  to  His  Ex- 
314 


"CONFIDENTIAL"  CORRESPONDENCE      315 

cellency  the  Governor's  wife,  a  certain  well- 
known  shipment  of  unset  stones,  and  cash  in 
varying  amounts  derived  from  sources  with 
which  you  are  acquainted,  are  in  a  black  valise 
which  you  will  find  in  the  parcel  room  of  the 
Selkirk  station — and  for  which  I  enclose  here- 
with the  parcel-room  check. 

"I  imagine  that  you  are  sceptical.  I  wonder, 
then,  if  it  would  also  occasion  you  surprise  to 
know  that  Birks  of  the  Secret  Service  waSj  after 
all,  'on  deck'  the  night  that  the  Wire  Devils  fell 
into  your  hospitable  hands?  Yes,  it  is  quite 
true — I  am  Birks.  The  newspaper  biographies 
of  the  Hawk,  the  apparent  authenticity  of  his 
prison  record  and  release  from  Sing  Sing  was 
but  'inspired'  fiction  supplied  from  'authorita- 
tive' sources.  The  East  was  being  swamped 
with  one  of  the  cleverest  counterfeit  notes  that 
the  Federal  authorities,  popularly  called  the 
Secret  Service,  had  ever  had  to  deal  with;  and 
it  was  evident  at  once  that  the  gang  at  work  pos- 
sessed an  organisation  against  which  ordinary 
methods  would  be  of  no  avail.  Facts  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  Federal  authorities  indicated  that 
the  headquarters  of  the  gang  was  in  the  West, 
and,  indeed,  as  you  later  concluded  yourself, 
that  the  so-called  Wire  Devils,  who  were  just 
beginning  to  operate  over  the  wires  around  Sel- 
kirk, were  the  men  we  wanted.  That,  because 
of  my  knowledge  of  telegraphy,  I  was  detailed 
to  the  case,  and  how,  almost  at  the  outset,  I  was 


316  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

fortunate  enough  to  secure  the  key  to  their 
cipher,  need  not  be  gone  into  here.  Knowing 
their  code,  then,  it  would  have  been  a  simple 
enough  matter  to  have  run  one  or  two  of  them 
to  earth  at  almost  any  time,  but  that  was  not 
enough;  it  was  necessary  that  the  entire  organi- 
sation, and  especially  its  head,  should  be  caught. 
The  role  of  the  Hawk  furnished  the  solution 
to  the  problem.  It  enabled  me  to  frustrate  their 
plans,  while  at  the  same  time  I  was  working  on 
the  case,  and  it  enabled  me  to  do  this  without 
arousing  their  suspicions  that  the  Secret  Service 
was  on  the  track  of  their  counterfeiting  plant. 
'Birds  of  a  feather,'  you  called  us,  Mr.  Mac- 
Vightie;  and  'birds  of  a  feather'  I  am  going  to 
ask  you  to  allow  us,  in  the  public's  eyes,  and 
particularly  in  the  eyes  of  those  you  now  have 
behind  the  bars,  to  remain. 

"I  am  sure  you  will  readily  acquiesce  in  this. 
You  will  instantly  see  that  my  usefulness  would 
be  destroyed  if  the  Hawk  became  known  and 
recognised  as  Birks  of  the  Secret  Service  by 
every  crook  in  the  country,  as  would  result  if 
he  now  figured  in  the  case  in  his  proper  person. 
And  this  leads  to  a  word  of  explanation  in  ref- 
erence to  the  final  act  in  our  little  drama  of  two 
nights  ago.  I  had  discovered  the  headquarters 
of  the  gang,  and  I  had  found  that  cleverest  of 
unhung  crooks,  the  Ladybird,  to  be  in  com- 
mand. The  plan  outlined  to  you  from  Wash- 
ington was  at  my  suggestion,  and  was  simply  a 


"CONFIDENTIAL"  CORRESPONDENCE      317 

trap  to  collect  them  all  into  one  net;  a  trap,  I 
might  add,  which  they  walked  into,  as  they  be- 
lieved, with  their  eyes  wide  open,  for  they  were 
well  aware  of  every  move  you  had  made.  The 
purpose  of  the  money  in  banknotes  accompany- 
ing the  gold  shipment  was  to  supply  the  Hawk 
with  a  reason  for  his  appearance  on  the  scene. 
It  was  not  altogether  a  question  of  coincidence 
that  the  train  was  stopped  just  outside  Con- 
more;  nor  that  the  chase  led  you  to  the  farm- 
house and  the  Ladybird.  The  rest  you  know. 
It  was  necessary  that  I  should  be  captured  and 
arrested  in  their  presence,  be  caught  in  fact  with 
the  'goods,'  and  also  that  my  escape  should  in 
their  eyes  appear  equally  genuine,  if  I  was  to 
preserve  the  Hawk's  identity.  As  for  this  last 
point,  things  turned  out  a  little  differently  than 
I  had  planned,  for  I  had  expected  to  be  taken  to 
jail  with  the  common  herd,  and  there  had  in- 
tended to  arrange  some  sort  of  an  escape  to 
keep  up  appearances.  As  it  turned  out,  how- 
ever, I  am  sure  you  will  agree  with  me  that  there 
are  worse  things  at  times  than  a  trapdoor  in  a 
cellar  floor! 

"I  think  that  is  all — save  for  one  little  de- 
tail. I  would  suggest  that  you  account  for  the 
recovery  of  the  'swag'  and  the  black  valise 
through  the  fact  that,  dissatisfied  with  your  first 
search  of  that  room  over  our  friend  Seidel- 
berger's  saloon,  you  searched  it  again  more 
minutely,  found  a  parcel-room  check  ingenious- 


318  THE  WIRE  DEVILS 

ly  hidden,  say,  behind  the  wall  bracket  of  the 
electric-light  fixture — and  by  so  doing  permit 
me  to  remain, 

"Ever  and  most  sincerely  yours, 

"THE  HAWK." 


THE  END 


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